


Alone Too

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, College AU, Depressed Newt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Newt, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Tattoo Artist Thomas, This is going to be so cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:16:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7996618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton Evans is starting Glades college two weeks into the official term. After having a difficult year of over coming traumatic experiences, he isn't looking forward to spending the next two years surrounded by alcohol, drugs and danger. But Newt will learn not everyone in the world is bad, and a specific special, kind soul will do extraordinary things to make him happy again. All he has to do, is let them in.</p><p>  <em>Or, Newt is damaged and determined not to fall in love. Thomas is damaged and adorably irresistible.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comeback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt arrives at Glades Prep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles based on Ella Eyre's Album - Feline.
> 
> This work is inspired by another, but I'm stupid and forgot the writer and the story title :( 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this, although I do warn you, Newt has had a troubled past and he has major trust issues.

"Mum, please stop. This is just embarrassing now." Newt sighed, lugging his suitcase from the trunk of the car.

"Oh, honey, don't be ridiculous." His mother replied, her voice high and cheerful. She rounded her car, coming to stand next to him as he collected his duffle bag and rucksack.

Newt closed the trunk door with a heavy slam. "Its bad enough starting college not knowing anyone, let alone in the middle of the semester. Please, don't make this more humiliating by walking me to my room."

"You'll make friends in no time." His mother assured but Newt didn't believe her. He wasn't a child anymore. Making friends is as easy as training a blind dog now. "And since when have you been ashamed of your mother?" His mother looked genially hurt.

Newt sighed softly. "Its always been embarrassing, mum. I just hate telling you that."

"Aw, my sweet boy." She beamed and cupped his cheeks. "I'm so proud of you. Y'know that, right?"

"You tell me every night, mum. Believe me, I know." Newt said, retuning the smile and mentally praying none of the college students could see him right now.

"I'm going to miss you so much." His mother whispered. She sounded heartbroken and it made Newt's heart ache.

"I'm going to miss you too, ma." He replied. "I'l be back in a few weeks for Mothers Day and until then, I'll call you as often as I can."

"I know you will." She said, removing her hands - finally. "Sonya's coming up next week, just to see how you're doing."

Newt frowned instantly. "Checking up on me? Seriously mum-"

"Not checking up on you." His mother interrupted and shook her head. "Theres nothing wrong with your sister caring about your wellbeing."

"She's checking up on me." Newt said arrogantly with pursed lips and a tight jaw.

"For the last time, Newt," his mother sighed. "Sonya is not 'checking up' on you. She's coming yo visit, nothing more, nothing less. She's your sister, Newt. She wants to come and see the college life."

"She can do that in a few years time when its her turn." Newt said. He back-pedalled when his mother raised a sharp eyebrow at him. "Okay, I'm sorry-"

His mother held up a and. "Uh- no! No apologies today. Today is a happy day."

Newt smiled, shoulders releasing tension. "Okay." He nodded. "Well, I better go and check in."

"Of course." His mother pull him into a hug. "You're all grown up..."

" _Mum_." Newt whined, pulling back.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. Go and get yourself checked in now."

Newt flashed his mother one last smile before he turned, grabbing his bags and walking towards the main building.

The campus was quiet, deserted. Not a student in sight. Newt adduced it was as the everyone was in their classes or lectures.

He turned just before the building and sighed at the sight of his mother still standing by her car, watching. Deep down, he wanted to run back to her, jump in her arms and have her take him home. But he was growing up. He needed to stop relying on his mother and be a normal teenager. No more dwelling on the past.

And with that thought in mind, Newt turned around and continued into the building.

"Newton Evans." He said to the assistant sat at the desk. Her hair was tied back in a painfully tight doughnut bun, not a single strand out of place or loose. Her thick, jet black eyeliner flicked up at the edges of her eyes, making the shape of her eyes look sharp and thin.

The girl, who didn't look any older than him, nodded before typing quickly on the computer in front of her. She flashed him a smile, the action letting Newt relax slightly. He put his bags down, his hands aching from the weight.

"Newton Evans, room 244, Westkey building."

Newt was about to ask where the 'Westkey building' was, but then the girl passed him a clear plastic folder that contained a key and a map along with some other pieces of paper.

"There are instructions on the map to get to your dorm, if you didn't know." She said.

Newt smiled, although he was certain it looked strained and fake. He picked up his bags, muscles aching at the action, before he grabbed the clear folder and left the reception.

"Good luck." The girl called after him, but Newt didn't even bother turning around to thank her. She didn't sound like she meant it anyway.

Outside, Newt began his journey to his new dorm. The map was in his hand, trying to follow the non-too helpful lines that were meant to show him where he was supposed to go.

He found the Westkey building soon enough though by the time he made it to the blocks door, his arms were threatening to break out of their sockets. When he walked into the building, it was like walking into a block of flats and he felt like crying with relief at the sight of the elevator. Room 244 was on the 5th floor and there was no way he'd been able to lug his bags that much farther.

It took him a few minutes to get the key into the lock as he was being both weighed down the bag and also shaking with anxiety. The door opened with a soft click and Newt shuffled in.

It was small and basic. Two single beds on either side, a desk each at the foot of the bed and two chest of draws side by side under the window. There was a door on the right side to what Newt assumed would be the bathroom. Cosy, Newt decided, thinking it would be exactly what his mother would say.

The bed on the right was rumpled, bed sheets thrown back. On the same side, the draws were over flowing and the floor was littered with clothes to make it look like a second carpet so Newt assumed that was his roommate. _Great, I'm living with someone who has never heard of self preservation_.

Newt barely got his bags on the clean bed before the room door burst open and no, Newt did nope yelp like a girl, nope, defaintly not.

The Asian stopped in his tracks. He was dressed in running shorts and trainers, his shirt damp with sweat yet somehow his black hair look untouched, whipped up and styled. On his arms, Newt could see tattoos that varied from roses and hearts to skulls and guns.

"You must be the Greenie," the Asian said. "Names Minho."

Newt frowned. "Greenie?"

"Nickname for the newbie," Minho shrugged as he bent down and picked up a towel off the floor. "I'm going for a shower," he said as he rummaged through one of the draws and pulled out a hand full of clothes. "Just, uh...unpack and- you know, make yourself at home."

Newt didn't have a chance to reply before Minho was crossing the room and disappearing into the 'bathroom'. Well, that could have gone worse.

Newt set to unpacking and he laid his bags on the bed. He sorted his clothes, folded them and organised them into the draws. He took his coats and hung them up on two of the four hooks on the back of the room door.

He organised his desk, setting out his books, pens and resources. And after a spared glance at Minhos desk, which had no recognition of books or any kinds of notes, he wondered what the hell his college life was going to be like.

Finally, Newt put his empty bags and suitcases under his bed just moments before Minho walked out of the bathroom.

He walked out in nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. His upper body was toned, muscles and drooling. On his right breast, there was a paragraph of scripted writing that Newt found himself staring st momentarily before he snapped out of it.

The open door allowed a swarm of hot air into the bedroom but Minho didn't seem fazed. Newt looked into the bathroom that would have looked appealing if it wasn't for the entire room fogged up with steam. Newt sighed, he didn't want to pester Minho yet, so he'll mention hygiene later. He dumped his wash bag on the sink side, ignoring the toothpaste stains in the white basin. Did this guy always live like a slob?

When he walked out of the bathroom, he was stunned to see Minho, who was no longer dressed in a loose towel but instead a pair of jeans and a tank top, rummaging through his books.

"Damn, Greenie," Minho said, turning around with Newt's new law book in his hand, "you're really going all out, aren't ya, shank?"

Newt stormed foward and snatched the book out of his hand. "I want to succeed," Newt hissed, harsher than he intended. He refused to have the next years of his life being spent being teased for his enthusiam to get the career he wants. He was not willing to relive high school that was still burned so vividly in his memory.

Minho laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender and flopped down on his bed. "I was only looking, Greenie. No need to get touchy,"

Newt sighed and put the book down, "I'm sorry. I could just do without people taking the piss out of me," _what are you doing? Stop giving him hints that you're a bullied freak!_

"Eh, it's alright, shank," Minho shrugged, he laid back on his bed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Shank?"

Minho shrugged where he laid. "Gladers slang, you'll pick it up soon enough, Greenie,"

"My names Newt," Newt said when he realised he hadn't actually told him yet. He eyed the tattoos, "are you allowed those?"

"Huh?" Minho asked, sliding his arm off his eyes and looking at Newt quizzically.

"The tattoos, aren't they against school policy?"

"This isn't high school, there isn't a uniform policy," Minho chuckled, sitting up. He looked at his tattoos as he spoke, "and actually, because I'm legal, I don't need permission or anything."

"Of course you're legal," Newt said, he didn't need to be genius to know you can't attend college until you're 19 and the legal age for tattoos are 18. "I meant, don't they want you to like...cover them up, or anything?"

"Nah," Minho said, "I've been here for two years now, they don't really bother anymore."

Newt's eyes widened. "This is your third year?"

"Yep," Minho said, popping the 'P'. "Came here first to do mythology, but after my first year I decided it wasn't for me and moved onto a athletics course. Now I'm training to be a personal trainer."

"Impressive," Newt said after a few moments. "Why aren't you in class now?"

"It's not a full time course. I finish at two or three, and only have to do three days a week. The rest I spend working or chilling,"

Newt nodded, "do you think a law course would be full time?"

"Nah, my friends doing it, it's not too heavy. Mainly just lectures and assignments. It goes full time in the second year I think though," Minho answered.

_Lectures and assignments, I can deal with that. I might even be able to get a job in my spare time._

"Right, well, I'm going to go to class," Newt said as he grabbed his messenger bag and started filling books.

"Now? It's like 3:30," Minho said, "classes are ending."

"I know, but I'm starting two terms late so I need to find my teacher and get any late assignments or other things I need to know,"

Minho rolled his eyes. "Don't bother with all that shuck, you'll never find a teacher once the last class breaks out. I'll introduce you to Teresa and she can tell you anything you've missed,"

"Teresa?"

"My friend who's doing the same course as you. I'm meeting up with her and everyone else tonight at Petes Pizarria, you should come with,"

_Good start, he's already inviting me to be with his friends._

"Thanks, Minho," Newt said, nodding in confirmation.

"No problem, Greenie,"

"I said my name was Newt,"

"And I'm Madonna, you gonna start calling me that?"

"Bloody hell," Newt sighed, was college always this difficult? First this guy invites him out to join his friends, but now he's refusing to call him by his actual name?

"Fine, _Madonna_."

*

Petes Pizzaria was one of the few restaurants on campus and if the name wasn't enough of a clue, it sells pizza.

The interior was decorated as a retro 1950's bar with the red leather seated booths and the waitresses dressed in black and white outfits. The only drinks they sold were milkshakes or water, and the only food they provided was literally just pizza.

When they walked in, Minho had a certain bounce in his step as if he was extremely excited to finally be here.

"Minho!"

They spun sync and saw a group, sitting in one of the corner booths, waving. As they approached the table, Newt could feel his palms begin to damped, his heart pounding and the blood rushed to his ears so fast it made him slightly dizzy.

_Don't be stupid. Don't be stupid. Don't be-_

"This you're new roomie, Minho?"

Minho nodded at Newt's side. "Everyone, this is Newt. The new Greenie. Greenie, this is Frypan," he motioned to a dark skinned boy, thickly built with short cut black hair. "This is Gally and Winston," he pointed to the two boys in the corners, one was scrawny with dark hair while the other large, muscly built with short blonde hair and thinnly shaped eyebrows that gathered Newt's attention horribly quickly. "And this is Teresa and Brenda." Minho ended by motioning to the two girls, both with Raven brown hair, one tanned and one contrastingly pale. They waved, murmuring hellos.

Newt licked his lips, jerking his hand in a stiff wave and uttered, "uh...hi,"

Minho dropped down beside the pale girl who Newt assumed to be Teresa. Newt stood awkwardly, unsure whether to sit or not when a hand grasped his wrist, pulling him down onto the cushioned seat on the end.

Brenda, he assumed, smiled and said, "can't have you standing, can we, Greenie?"

"Hey, T," Minho said. "Greenie's on your law course with you."

Newt felt nausea twist in his stomach. He was so nervous.

"Really?" Teresa said, her voice a void of anything Newt imagined. Instead, she looked pleased and excited. "Don't worry, you haven't missed much. Our professor is really laid back, only set one paper so far and it isn't due until the end of term."

Newt nodded, feeling suddenly really relaxed at the sound that he hasn't missed anything too vital.

Chatting with Minho's friends is surprisingly easy for Newt. Despite his tipsy history in making friends, these guys seem to be taking him under their wing like a lost child. Newt learned a fair amount about the group.

He learns that Gally is studying a carpentry course and has a childhood love for building. The boy was slightly blunt, but seemed to be cold with everyone, so Newt didn't take it to heart. Winston says he's doing a extended biology course and Frypan, Newt couldn't work out why they called him that instead of his real name, until Frypan told him he was doing a catering course.

Newt was dragged out of his thoughts when Brenda nudged his arm.

"Hm?" He hummed.

Brenda rolled her eyes. "I said, why have you taken a law course?"

"My dad was a lawyer," Newt said, "I guess I want to follow in his footsteps."

"Thats hardly a reason to do it for the rest of your life,"

"Theres nothing I've ever wanted to do more," Newt said thoughtfully. His father had been his hero since he was young, encouraging him to follow his dreams and work as hard as he possibly could be good things come from those who work and wait. His fathers blessed words inspired Newt to do what he does.

"Fair enough, I guess. I'm studying childcare, I want to be a middle school teacher," Brenda said as she munched on a piece of pizza crust. They'd ordered three pizzas while they talked.

Newts eyes were drawn to the girls wrist, where a blue butterfly was inked just before the back of her hand. "Thats pretty,"

Brenda looked down at it and smiled, "Thomas did it,"

"Thomas?"

"He's a tattoo apprentice. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him yet, he's Minho's best friend," Brenda said before she frowned, turning to Minho and asking, "Minho, wheres Thomas?"

Minho paused mid conversation with Teresa, "Shank couldn't get off work,"

Brenda nodded like it happened a lot.

"You can meet him soon," Brenda said. "He's really great, I think you'll like him."

Newt wasn't sure what Brenda meant, but it didn't settle well. Whoever this Thomas guy was, Newt was not going to let himself get attached. When Brenda talks about him, she speaks with adoration in her eyes. It was unsettling. Newt knew people like this Thomas, and anything involved with them ended badly.

"Hey, Greenie," Minho said, slicing through his thoughts like a knife. "New guy always pays."

Newt rolled his eyes and threw a 20 on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos and comments, I want to know what you guys thought :)


	2. Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is in this one yayayaya XD  
> I have missed writing about my little human muffin<3

"Come on, Newtie," his voice was sly and smooth, sliding in his ears like a whistle of wind. "Don't you trust me?"

Newt nods, head bobbing as his hand is taken, being lead down the dark road. His head is pounding, mouth as thick as cotton. He hasn't even drank that much.

The hand holding his is soft, warm. Its like a pillow, cushioning him.

"Wait," Newt says, coming to a stumbling stop when he sees whats up ahead. "I...I don't want-"

"Oh, Newtie, babe, don't be a buzz kill,"

"N-no. Plea-ase, I don't- I won't-"

The hand on his wrist tightens, fingers digging into the skin, bones and veins grinding together painfully. Newt flinches when the face that was shadowed by the night sky is suddenly inches from his, their breath on his lips.

"You don't have a choice," the voice slices through the air like a knife. Its cold and hard, unmovable. And then Newt is being pulled forward by the wrist.

He panics, digging his heels down, soles of his shoes scraping along the dirty pavement as he's dragged towards the building.

"N-no, stop, please! Let me go! STOP!"

Newt 's eyes snapped open, jackknifing up on the bed. His heart was like it was on rocket fuel, racing a mile a minute. His cheeks were wet, vision blurry with tears.

It was a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

His fingers clenched around the fabric of his comforter, knuckles draining white. It takes only minutes to calm down, his skin slick with sweat, limbs trembling from extersion. He was still breathing hard as if he'd run a marathon, but at least he was boarder lining a panic attack.

He's surrounded by darkness, the only light source being the white of the moon glowing through they're window and shining onto Minhos bed, showing the sleeping teenager who during Newt's fits of panic, had remained under his slumber.

Newt couldn't settle. His skin was crawling, like a thousand ants were tingling the surface. Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw the sadistic grin, the perly white teeth before he was dragged into the place that changed his life forever. Perminantly scarred in his mind, Newt climbed out of bed, in the dark he could barely see, but he managed to stifle through his draws and find a pair of trousers and tiptoeing across the floor to the bathroom, careful not to wake Minho - although, the boy seemed to be capable of sleeping through any kind of racket.

In the bathroom, Newt switched on the floresant light that stung his eyes momentarily. He leaned against the worktop by the sink, palms down flat on the cool surface. His head was hanging between his shoulders, chin resting on his chest.

He looked in the mirror, grimacing at the dried tear tracks and pallor to his skin. He looked dreadful, and it wasn't the look he needed his first day.

Switching the shower on, Newt stripped from his sweat soaked pyjama shorts and t-shirt before stepping under the spray. The water was cool, the heat level low. It was comforting and refreshing at the same time. The water washing away the sweat and grime that clung to his skin, tracing over the surface and soothing him.

He quickly washed, shampooing his hair with his new coconut wash that his mum bought for him - not that he's going to admit that to anyone.

He stepped out, turning off the shower and drying himself with a towel. He grimace when the tough fabric brushed over the scars on his wrist. Small, violent red lines stood out against the white skin on the inside of his forearms. Memories poured out of the thin scars, memories of pain and misery, haunting and shame. Newt couldn't stand the sight of them, the sight of his own conflicted pain that stood out so harshly.

_Don't let anyone know. Don't let anyone in._

He dried and dressed himself, looking in the mirror again. His skin had a kind flush of colour in his cheeks, his eyes vibrant and well looking. He smiled, feeling lighter than he had earlier before he stepped out of the bathroom.

The dorm was now a glow with the rising sun. Minho, who still looked half asleep, was batting at the ringing alarm clock.

"Morning," Newt said as he walked to his side of the room, tucking his pyjamas under his pillow before making his bed.

"Why are you up so early?" Minho asked, voice masked with sleep. He stretched on the bed, joints popping and cracking. Newt didn't realise, but the Asian was topless, the covers thrown back so Newt could clearly see the muscle lines on his tones body.

Newt flushed red, cheeks glowing. He spun around, hiding his blushing face because he was totally checking Minho out. "I-uh," he took a breath, "I'm a early riser."

Minho let out a loud groan. "Why do I have to be roommated with a shucking early bird?"

Newt sighed loudly, exaggeratedly. He bit his tongue from snapping at Minho, the last thing he needed was for his roommate and his friendship group to hate him on his second day.

Minho grunted at him, and when Newt turned back, Minho was sleepily shuffling towards the bathroom with a handful of clothes.

*

Newt's nerves were a whirlpool by the time he left the dorm. Minho had given him tight instructions of the easiest way to get to his class, but even then, it was confusing. The campus was huge. It was like a town in itself.

He found it eventually, and when he did, he didn't know whether to cry or laugh with relief. He was early, surprisingly, and it was only his professor present when he walked in.

"Uh, excuse me," Newt said lamely.

The person behind a large oak desk looked up. His face was long, a shorn stubble of brown and grey covered his chin and lower cheeks. He smiled, "can I help you?"

"I'm meant to be starting you're class today. I'm Newton-"

"Newton Evans," the professor finished for him with a wide smile. He stood, rounding his desk and approaching Newt quickly. The older man grabbed his hand eagerly, shaking it firmly. "I'm Professor Janson. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, I've heard all about your achievements during high school. It's honestly such an honour that your in my class!"

Newt smiled awkwardly. He didn't expect the preach from a teacher he'd only just met. He also wasn't sure how Professor Janson knew about his high school years as valedictorian and the broke the record for highest scorer in his finals.

"Uh...t-thank you, sir. It really isn't...that much of a honour," Newt rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Oh, don't talk nonsense. You're the only student in my class with achievements that high. You should be proud,"

Before Newt could contemplate a verbal reply, the classroom door opened behind him and students poured in.

"Where should I sit?" Newt asked as peers took their seats.

"Anywhere, you don't have assigned seats," Professor Janson said before he walked back to his desk.

Newt turned around, spotting Teresa just as she sat on the second row of tables and chairs. He waited for her to notice him, and when she did, her face brightened up and she waved him over.

"Hey, Greenie," she said when he was close.

Newt sighed. "I thought only Minho calls me that,"

"Its the name of the newest Glader. Everyones going to call you it,"

"Great," Newt motioned to the chair, "can I...?"

"Of course!" Teresa patted the seat next to her.

Newt took a seat just as Professor Janson started talking.

*

"Greenie," Minho said as he walked into their dorm, the door slamming behind him. Newt flinched, the sound harsh and sudden amongst his peaceful studying. "The group and I are going to a pub outside of college, the Flare. I need you to pack up your dork-y-ness and kiss your books goodnight because tonight, my friend, you are going to act like an actual college student."

Newt spins around from where he was working at the desk. "I can't. I have too much work to get done and not enough time."

"Everyone has work, Greenie. Thats the life of a college student. You're working too hard," Minho said as he raided his wardrobe, flicking through the hung-up clothes like pages in a book.

Newt shook his head. "I—"

"Stop being boring," Minho said as he laid out a set of clothes on his bed, moving onto Newts wardrobe. Moments later, a handful of clothes were thrown, hitting Newt directly in the face and flopping in his lap. "Get dressed. We leave in 10."

Isn't there a campaign against peer-pressure? Isn't it bullying? Newt wondered as he got dressed. Apparently peer-pressure is an anonymous thing to Minho as he was persistently telling Newt how he was a geek and he needed to get a taste of the wild college life he's depriving himself of.

They left 20 minutes later, 10 of which Minho had been fussing over his hair, adding ridiculous amounts of product to it and then telling Newt about how important and precious his hair is.

The pub wasn't too far out of the college, about a 15 minute drive in a normal car, but only 7 in Minho who seems to think speeding limits are only 'optional. No one drives that slow these day, Greenie.'

When they walked in, it was like walking into a airbag. Hot air swarmed them, the atmostphere was light and hypnotising as they walked further in. The dark wooden interior looked old, stylish and retro. It was dimly lit, torch lights on the walls. There were speakers litered in the high corners of the room, a song playing through, the bass low and shaking, drumming through Newt's chest. There were leather chairs, tables and stools. The bar was in the centre, accessible at 3 sides. There were two people behind the bar, wizzying around like flies. They flew past eachother, moving like a synced pair, filling up glasses and sliding them across the wooden counter top to their buyers.

"Minho! Newt!"

Newt dragged his attention away from the bar and followed Minhos direction towards the corner where Teresa, Frypan, Winston and Gally all sat in cushioned leather chairs and a sofa.

"Glad you guys could finally make it," Teresa said.

"Yeah, and you're in one piece," Frypan chimed in. "Ay, Minho, haven't killed Newt with your driving skills yet?"

A chorus of laughter rung out.

"Shut up," Minho scowled. "You all got drinks?"

"We've been here for almost an hour, buddy,"

"Right," Minho turned to Newt. "Come on, greenie. There's someone I want you to meet."

They walked to the bar, which was significantly clearer now. Minho leaned against the wood that, to Newt's surpise, wasn't sticky with spilt alcohol.

The bartender turned to them and Newt felt like his breath got literally stuck in his throat.

A combination of the feathered brown hair, looking so soft and upturned, the consolation of moles scattering along his cheek and down his neck, the milky pale skin that contrasted so complimently with the whiskey brown eyes.

"Minho, my man," he said, raising a hand and clapping it against Minhos. He smiled, teeth shining and eyes lighting up.

"How you doing, shank?" Minho asked.

"Could be better," he said before he turned to Newt, "you must be Newt, I'm Thomas."

Oh shit. Newt felt his breath hitch. So this is the famous Thomas. Newt didn't realise he was staring until Thomas started laughing nervously, looking at Minho before shaking a hand in front of Newt's face.

"You okay there, Greenie?" Minho asked teasingly.

Newt nodded, blinking away his thought. "Y-yeah, it's nice to meet you, Thomas,"

Thomas smiled. "What can I get for you two?"

"Half a pint," Minho answered without a beat but Thomas was already filling up a glass and sliding it towards the Asian before looking to Newt again.

"Uh- the same, p-please," Newt stuttered and inwardly slapped himself. Did he always have to look like such a douche?

Thomas smiled none the less, gleaming and happy as he filled up the glass to the top and placed it on the wooden counter without spilling a drop. It was then that Newt noticed the tattoos covering the pale skin of his bare arms. There were vines, crawling and spiralling up his arms and going under the sleeve of his t-shirt, roses and thorns. There were other tattoos, smaller and with either little or expensive detail. One thing that stood out, was that there was no colour. Each tattoo were forms of blacks and whites, different tones and shades but not a single spec of colour.

"You like tattoos?" Thomas asked.

Newt blinked. "Oh-uh-yeah. They're...okay,"

Lame. You are so lame.

"You should come by the parlour one time, Thomas could draw you up anything,"

"No thanks," Newt said, taking a sip of the beer. He didn't really like beer, but it was too late now. Plus he didn't want to make a bad impression by being petty and fussy. "I don't like needles."

"Fair enough," Thomas said. "First time I put a needle to Minho's skin, he yelpled like a girl and fainted."

"I did not faint," Minho hissed but Thomas just chuckled at him. "When do you finish?"

Thomas looked at the clock on the wall behind him. "Half of an hour. Brenda's coming in in fifteen, if she's in a good mood she might let me off early,"

Minho nodded and grabbed his glass, saluting a goodbye before guiding Newt back to their corner.

The discussions between the Gladers was light and cheery, discussing already embarrassing college moments. Newt didn't contribute much, just sipped on the beer that burned his throat and made him physically want to gag. But he needed something to do so he drank it anyway. Pubs, group gatherings and alcohol was not Newt's thing. The whole occasion made him feel overwhelmed, and slightly at risk so he had made a habit of staying out of the large crowds, yet here he was, not even made it through his first week and he's already in a pub.

"Want a refill?"

Newts eyes snapped up to see Thomas standing above him. He looked relaxed, shirt sleeves rolled up and a pair of skinny jeans that clung to all the right places. Unfortunately (and fortunately), Newt was at the exact height of Thomas' crotch.

Newt blushed, realising he was staring again. "N-no thank you,"

Thomas nodded with a light laugh and sat down in the cushioned arm chair next to him. He had his back to one of the chairs arms, side pressed against the back and legs dangling over the other arm, his own beer bottle in his hand.

"Thomas!" Teresa shrieked with glee before she rose from her chair and leaped into his lap.

Thomas barely managed to juggle Teresa and his beer bottle, while avoiding the chair tipping back from the momentum of Teresa's weight. He chuckled, a delecacy in Newts ears, "hey T,"

"Aren't you meant to be working?" Teresa asked, her voice was high and slurring, evidently borerlining drunk.

"Brenda's been an angel and let me off early," Thomas replied easily.

Teresa, surprisingly, pouted. "But Tom," she whined, "I need you behind the bar so you can get me free drinks!"

"Brenda can get you free drinks, T,"

Teresa gaped, "YAY!" She jumped up, sprinting towards the bar.

Thomas shook his head fondly and Newt felt a stir of jealously stirring in his blood-

 _Woah, hold up - where did that come from?_ Newt mentally scolded himself.

"So, Newt," Thomas started, and Newt tried not to think too hard when Thomas referred to him by name and not the given nickname 'Greenie'. "Where you from?"

"Queens," Newt said simply. "You?"

"Born and raised in New Jersey until I was 9, then I moved to California,"

Newt was about to speak, to ask why they moved, when Minho spoke across.

"Hey, Thomas, Greenie here wants to be a lawyer!" Minho said as he sat down on the couch opposite them.

"Oh, really?" Thomas looked impressed.

A familiar pride welled up in Newt's chest. He nodded.

"That's cool, man," Thomas smiled, "I'd love to have that kind of life plan."

"I wouldn't call it a life plan," Newt dejected.

"More planned than mine. I don't even know what I'm eating for breakfast tomorrow," Thomas laughed, and Newt laughed too. It was contagious, like when someone yawns, and you feel the instinct to yawn too. That's what Thomas' laugh did, but not in an annoying way.

"Do you have any ideas on what you want to do as a career?" Newt asked, trying to make conversation but actually found himself becoming curious. Thomas looked like an intelligent, bright guy. But he was also covered in tattoos and apparently working in a bar.

"I have no clue. There's loads of things I'd love to do, but nothing that really interests me. I don't know, I don't think I've found my place yet,"

Newt nodded, understanding. Sonya was like that. She had no idea what she wanted to do with her life but yet so capable of doing anything in the world. It was almost like she had too much choice, too many opportunities that she couldn't decide on one.

Newt only just noticed that Minho had left, and was now standing with the group by a retro box game machine. Shouts of victory and frustration came off them in sudden cheers and cries.

"I'm gonna get another drink, want one?" Thomas asked, beginning to get up.

Newt looked at his empty glass, debating whether he wanted to drink more. The logical part of his mind told him no, that he'd already drank too much and he shouldn't let himself fall into the trap of alcoholism. The other part, the controlling and influencing part of his mind, told him to go for it just so he could keep talking to Thomas.

"Sure," Newt said, getting up as well and following Thomas through the pub as he weaved around people to the bar. Thomas moved with a certain rhythm, his long, skinny limbs moving with fluency and grace.

Newt barely managed to resist staring at the boys ass as he walked.

At the bar, Thomas leaned against the wood with crossed forearms.

A girl with tanned skin and brown hair cut in a short pixie style stepped up. Her face was structured with soft features and big brown eyes.

"Hey, Thomas," she said, nodding in Newt's direction before adding, "Greenie."

"Hey, Bren, fancy supplying a couple of free drinks?" Thomas asked with a humorous tone.

"Hmm," Brenda hummed, looking at Thomas sharply. "Fine," she said after a moment. She turned to Newt, "what's your poison?"

"What?" Newt startled, slightly horrified and confused.

Thomas chuckled, but it wasn't in a vicious way. "He'll take a pint'a cider,"

Brenda nodded and went off.

Newt looked at Thomas suspiciously. "How do you know I like cider?"

"You didn't look like you were enjoying that beer, and everyone likes cider,"

Newt felt his face burn red with embarrament. He hadn't realised his uncomfort was evident on his facial features. "I-"

"It's okay, I don't really like beer either. I just drink to look manly, but I actually prefer wine,"

Something glowed up in Newt when he realised Thomas was opening up, telling him things he wouldn't tell strangers. It made a warmth spread in his chest. "I like wine too," he said lamely.

Brenda came back with the drinks, placing down two pints of a rose red liquid. When Newt drank it, he recognised it as Koppaberg, strawberry cider; his favourite.

"Oh, god," Thomas said suddenly, "I love this song!"

Newt listened closely, recognising it as one of The 1975's new songs, _Love Me_. "You like The 1975?"

"Love them!" Thomas said brightly. "Minho hates them, always moaning when I play their 'soppy, depressing shit',"

Newt gasped, placing a hand over his heart in mock, "how dare he? Matt Healy is not soppy!"

"Tell me about it. I'd date that guy anyday!"

"I think anyone would date him," Newt said, thinking of the attractive singer he'd adored for years.

Thomas took a sip of his cider. He pulled out a bar stool, sitting down on it and leaning against the bar top. Newt did the same, more comfortable there than at the sitting area with everyone else. "What other music do you like? B'cos if you like The 1975, then you obviously have amazing music taste,"

And that's how Newt got en-wrapped in a hours long conversation that escalated from music, to movies, to interest and hobbies, to embarrassing childhood memories. Newt felt like he'd known Thomas is entire life. The tattooed teen was easy to talk too, conversations never leading too close to personal or raw subjects. Thomas actually had a lot more things in common with Newt than he'd thought. Their music taste was almost identical, both liking calm, meaningful music made with actual instruments instead of a computer edited sound that shouldn't even be qualified as 'music'. Newt also found out that Thomas shared Newts love of action movies, the easy going, simple watch that doesn't require a lot of thinking. Newt found out that Thomas was interested in art, and had been doing it since he was old enough to hold a pencil. He'd began working in a tattoo parlour owned by a old friend when he was 15, and has been there ever since. Newt was insanely wrapped in, curious and intrigued by Thomas' life and stories.

By the end of the night, they were both drunk and giggling like school girls at Newt's story about how he dyed his entire body blue the night before prom.

*

Newt regretted drinking the next day. He'd been still under his alcohol indused sleep when a loud banging rumbled against the wood of his dorm door. It took him a few minutes to realise they were knocking at his door, and by then, the banging was constant and loud. Minho was passed out in the bed next to him, so Newt had no choice but to be the one who answers the door.

He was surpised to see Sonya on the other side.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Newt asked. He was hungover and a brewing headache was forming behind his eyes. The sight of his sister before him didn't make him feel any better.

"What the hell happened to you?" Sonya asked, her eyes wide as they tracked him up and down, taking in his rumpled pyjama bottoms and the top he'd fell asleep in last night when he hadn't been energetic enough to change it.

"I ask you first," Newt said childishly.

Sonya rolled her eyes and pushed past, entering the room. "I thought mum told you I'd be visiting,"

"Well, yeah, but she didn't say _today_. And she didn't say this early!"

"Newt, its 12 o'clock,"

Newt looked at the clock, which confirmed it was in fact, 12:04 PM. Shit.

Newt sighed, running a heavy hand down his face. He didn't need this today. "Sonya, I-"

"Are you hungover?"

"No, I-"

"Oh, god, Newt," Sonya sighed. "You've been at college for 5 days, and you've already got twisted into some party group?"

"It's not like that! We just went to the pub to hang out. I didn't even drink that much-"

He was cut off by Minhos grunting, shifting on the bed and squinting at the two standing teens in the middle of the room. "Who the shuck is this?"

"This is Sonya, my sister. Sonya, this is Minho, my roommate," Newt said.

Sonya waved, but her mouth shifted into a tight line when Minho grunted again.

"It's too early for this klunk. Take your family reunion somewhere else," and then he rolled over, pulling the covers up and over his face with a annoyed huff.

Sonya didn't looked impressed.

"Wait outside, I'll get dressed and be out in a few minutes," Newt said, already going to grab some clean clothes. He didn't wait for Sonyas response before he exited into the bathroom.

When he came back out, freshly clothed and face washed, Minho was sitting up in bed and chucking with Sonya.

 _Oh brilliant_ , Newt dreaded. He crossed the room, asking, "what you guys laughing at?"

"Minho was just telling me how you can't handle your alcohol," Sonya said.

"What? Yes I can!"

Minho snorted, "no, Greenie, you can't. You got wasted on cider,"

"Oh I'm sorry, Mr Hardcore, look who's also hungover on beer,"

Minho looked at his sharply.

"Newt has never been good at drinking," Sonya said, "he used to get tipsy on just one bottle of Bulmers-"

"Sonya!" Newt shrieked, but the sound of his loud voice hurt his own ears.

Minho still was laughing when Newt practically pushed Sonya out of the room and slammed the door behind them.

*

They went to a small coffee shop just outside of the campus, sitting in the window at a round wooden table.

Sonya asked the typical questions about college, about how he's settling in, what his classes are like and who he's made friends with. Newt feels strangely self conscious talking about it in public, especially to Sonya who seemed overally interested.

"Have you spoken to George?"

The question caught Newt ofd guard. He should have expected it really, considering his sisters worry towards him. But question still made the blood drain from his face, heart rate and hands begin to tremble.

"No," Newt said quietly. "Why?"

Sonya shrugged. "He called the other day, asking to speak to you,"

Newt swallowed thickly. "What did you say?"

"Me and Harriet told him to go fuck himself, and Aris chased him down the street with a broom," Sonya said in a tone like she was talking about history facts.

Newt couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Aris screaming like mad man, a broom clasped in his hands. The tension drained from his shoulders slightly.

"It was quite funny actually," Sonya chuckled. "Aris chased him all the way to Brooklyn before he lost him." Sonya paused, and when she spoke next, her voice was gentle and soft. "How have you been feeling?"

Newt knew the words behind the question. Sonya was really asking if Newt felt depressed, suicidal, alone, paranoid.

"Fine," Newt said. The lie felt bitter on his lips.

"Newt," Sonya leaned forward, "you can tell me in somethings wrong. You can trust me."

"I know. And you can trust me when I tell you that I'm fine,"

Sonya looked like she didn't believe him. Her eyes shone with concern. "Okay," she finally said. "As long as you're sure."


	3. Typical Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update, I'm not going to make excuses but the next one probably isn't going to come any quicker.
> 
> This chapter is jumpy and short but at least I updated.
> 
> Leave kudos and comments, I want to know what you thought!
> 
> ♡

Newt was beginning to realise that Professor Jansons lectures really were a waste of time. The man seemed to babble on about complete nonsense, then would snap out of his superior topic and ask a completely random question which would leave a student confused and stuttering. The worst thing of all, was that Professor Janson seemed to find this remotely amusing.

But other than the concerning fragment of that, Janson is actually a incredible Professor. Newt had found every one of his lessons educational despite the babble and most of the time, if you could keep up with his sadistic tone, the things he was saying were actually really useful.

It was Newt's fourth week since he started and so far, he thinks he's dealing. The work hasn't been too much of a heavy load, and all of the assignments have been piss easy. He had no worries about his college work, but instead the girl who sat next to him.

The more Newt spent with Teresa, the more he began to develop the jealous urge to slam her head into the table. In almost every conversation, no matter what the subject, Teresa manages to bring up Thomas. It was infuriating and also secretly convenient. Newt liked hearing about Thomas, who's tattoos were impaired in his memory and his beaming smile when he found out Newt liked The 1975. The single memory Newt had with Thomas was like a treasure in his mind. And then Teresa manages to ruin it.

Newt isn't sure if he's angry or relieved in that his suspicions of Teresa and Thomas dating, because with Thomas being taken, it means he's in no position to make a move on Newt, which is technically what the boy wants. But at the same time, the thought of Thomas being bound to Teresa, makes Newts hairs stand on end.

Newt pushes any and all thoughts out of his mind of the brunette boy when he walks out of the lecture theatre, quickly making his dash away from Teresa, and practically running back to his dorm.

Newt hadn't seen Thomas since the night at the pub. Of course, Teresa had informed him that Thomas had been super busy with college and working, but the comment still angered Newt. He was once again divided between his wants and his past.

*

Newt had been staring at his computer screen for almost forty minutes now. His mind was blank, uncooperative. He'd never known the internet to be so useless, giving him absolutely no inspiration or ideas for his mothers birthday present. His mothers birthday is on the weekend, so he has only 1 and a half days until he needs to be catching the train home to see her. Thats a total of 36 hours to find a God damn present that has been tormenting his mind.

He was at a complete loss. He's never been good at presents, never known what to get people because he's always assumed everyone has what they already need. His mother was especially hard to buy for because the woman didn't do anything. She didn't have any hobbies apart from gardening - which Newt knows nothing about - and Sonya always gets her the gardening gifts. He can't even go down the typical route of bath wash and expensive bath bombs because his mother doesn't bathe. She always uses the shower because 'I refuse to sit in a pool of dirty water and call it cleaning'.

"What would you buy your mother for her birthday?" Newt asked Frypan one day. The pair of them were sitting at one of the food courts, making their way through some sandwiches.

Frypan looked slightly surprised at the question, which Newt figured was fair considering he rudely cut Frypan off from whatever he was talking about. But Newt was desperate now.

"I usually just buy her flowers," Frypan said eventually. "I don't have a job, so money is usually an issue. She understands that."

Newt groaned, dropping his head into his hand. That wasn't going to work. His mother was loaded with money and if he needed some, all he had to do was ask and boom, his bank would be 200 dollars fuller.

"Okay, if you had money, what would you buy your mum?"

Frypan seemed to chew on this, eyes drifting as if he was deep in thought. He was silent for a full three minutes before he finally spoke. "Bath bombs,"

Newt dropped his head harshly onto the metal table, narrowly missing his sandwich.

*

"What are you doing for Thanks Giving?" Newt asked one afternoon. He was still browsing for presents for his mum and so far, Amazon wasn't being very helpful. He'd even resigned himself to making a Pinterest account to see if there was anything he could quickly scrape up or find, but once again, his mothers lack of hobbies or adorations made the whole experience painfully useless.

Minho had just got out of the shower, and the thought of Thanks Giving had been playing on Newts mind for a few weeks now. It was a while away, considering it was barely the middle of September, but Newt didn't know what everyone does around the time of Thanks Giving at college, so he wanted to find out before he went home to see his mother that weekend.

"Going home," Minho said as he exited the bathroom. "Seeing the family in the day and then going out for drinks with Thomas."

"Drinks with Thomas?" Newt turned away from the computer, spinning in his spin-y chair so the desk was fully behind him. He frowned, coffee in hand, the warmth of the cup burning his palms slightly. "Why?"

"Thomas lost his mum when he was a child and never knew his dad," Minho shrugged as he dumped a handful of dirty running clothes into the pamper. "He sees Tulusa and Teresa during the day, then we go and get drunk in the evening."

Newt felt his eyes widen. "His mum- but- his dad isn't-?"

"His dad is basically as good as dead as far as Thomas is concerned," Minho said, a tone of bitter dripping his voice.

Thomas was an practically an orphan? Newt couldn't get his head around it.

Thomas was so bright, so positive and an _orphan_. The title didn't fit his personality. Newt had never met an orphan, but he had always assumed they were dark and scarred and miserable.

"Tulusa?" Newt repeated. "Who's she?"

"His adoptive mother, Teresa's mum,"

Newt dropped his cup of coffee. He didn't acknowledge the splash of hot liquid crashing onto the floor, spilling over the wood. "Teresa's _mum_? They're _siblings_?"

Minho, who was staring wide eyed at the spillage, looked at Newt with a deadpanned expression. "Are you stupid?"

"I thought they were dating!"

Minho stared at him for a moment. And then he bursted out laughing.

Newt stared at the boy who he'd never imagined to be on the floor, choking on his own laughter while clapping his hands likes seal.

He felt sudden fury singing through his veins. This wasn't funny.

"I'm serious!" Newt yelled. "I swear they are dating!"

That only made Minho laugh harder.

Newt didn't understand what was so hilarious, nor did he understand how he'd managed to get _siblings_ mixed up with _dating_. The whole thing had just turned into a massive cluster-fuck, and Newt wasn't sure what he was meant to do now.

"You're such a stupid shank," Minho wheezed, face red and blotchy from laughing so hard. "D'you know that?"

Newt rolled his eyes, glaring, "Shut up, _Madonna_ ,"

Newt couldn't stop thinking about Thomas that night. He couldn't get his head around the blatant fact that that boy was an orphan. He couldn't imagine the boy being hurt, being broken by something so awful as to watching or having your only reliant parent die. Newt understood how it felt to have his father leave, his own did so a few years ago when he got bored with his mother. But Newt couldn't wonder the feeling of his mother dying, and the very thought of it almost brought tears to his eyes.

Newt didn't sleep much that night. His mind was alive and buzzing like it was giddy with alcohol.

*

The next day, when Newt walked out of class, he caught a glimpse of black tattoos and brown hair. Weaving through the sea of students that had just spilled out of Professor Jansons classroom.

"Thomas!" He called out, breaking through the swarm of pupils. "Thomas!"

The boy turned around, looking uncertain as if he wasn't sure someone had called him specifically. When he found Newt, he smiled, coming to a stop.

Newt tried not to think about how breathtaking Thomas looked in skinny jeans and a plaid shirt, the colours going so well together that the outfit looked both thrown together and yet gorgeously planned.

"I-uh. . ." Newt trailed off. He couldn't think straight, not when Thomas was standing there with a faint smile that was barely noticeable yet shined so bright. He was blinding, breathtaking and Newt seriously _needed to stop_ thinking about that. . "Wh-Why didn't you tell me about- about your parents?"

"My. . .parents?" Thomas frowned, though it wasn't sad, more confused and curious. "What about them?"

"You- why didn't you tell me?" Newt asked He swallowed thickly. His throat was suddenly dry. "About being an orphan."

The whole thing suddenly seemed like the worst decision Newt had ever made. He couldn't see hurt in Thomas' eyes, yet he didn't know how well the boy was at masking it by now. He also didn't know how sore the subject was, just because it was years ago, doesn't mean it doesn't ache the same. Newt still sometimes cried about his dad leaving them all, and that happened when he was like 12.

To his surprise, Thomas chuckles. "Was it something I should have mentioned?"

"No!" Newt said, hurriedly. "I just-"

"It wasn't the type of thing I bring up on the first conversation," Thomas said, shrugging lightly. He was smiling, soft and happy - to Newts surprise.

But he made a darn good point. Him and Thomas had only ever spoken once, why would he have told Newt about his dead parent?

Newt suddenly felt embarrassingly stupid. "I-. . . I'm sorry, Thomas. I didn't-"

"Its fine, dude, really," Thomas shook his head, stopping Newt softly from humiliating himself further. "I didn't think it really mattered. It was a long time ago, anyway."

"No- yeah, I totally get that," Newt stammered. He was sweating and it wasn't because of the September heat left over from summer. His heat was hammering because if Thomas hadn't reacted so well to his rude pocking into the boys life, then Newt could have lost a friend before he really made one.

"Don't sweat it, buddy," Thomas said again. He was seriously calm about this. "Look, I gotta get to work, but we should meet up soon. All of us."

"R-Right, yeah, totally," Newt stammered. His heart sunk slightly. _All of us_. Thomas wanted to meet as a _group_.

Newts not going to lie that the statement hurt a little bit. Nor is he doing to ever admit it to anyone.

Thomas walks away then, shouting a rushed good bye over his shoulder, leaving Newt standing there in the court yard with a confused head and a racing heart.

*

Newt grabs some flowers and chocolates at the train station on his way home. He got the florist to wrap the flowers and bought a stick-y-back bow in the gift shop to stick on the box of chocolates because he can't wrap them up while he's walking from the train station to his house.

When he opens the front door, its like he's hit with a warm air bag. The house, as usual, is a box of thick heat. Its almost suffocating, but Newt grew up with his mothers hatred of heat and is more than used to her constant heating.

"I'm home," he calls as he enters. The familiar smell of home hits him hard and he can't imagine him leaving again. He missed home.

"Newt!" His mother shouts moments before she comes running out of the kitchen. Newt barely gets his bag off his shoulder before his mother is pulling him in for a hug, almost crushing the flowers he bought in the process.

He melts into his mothers warmth, missing the security of home.

"I thought you were going to ring me when you got off the train," his mother said when she pulled away.

Newt smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Ma. Must have slipped my mind."

His mother tusked at him before she gasped, her hands reaching up to her mouth as she eyed the flowers in Newt's hand.

"Happy birthday," Newt said, and his mother threw her arms around his neck again for a brief hug. She pulled back, taking the flowers Newt handed her, eyes gleaming.

"They're gorgeous, Newt," she said. "I love them! Come on, I'll get these into a vase and you can help me with dinner."

"Wheres Sonya?" Newt asked as he moved his weekend bag into the living room so it was out of the way. He walked into the kitchen, still holding the chocolates.

"She's gone to the store to get some wine," his mother replied as she prepped the flowers. She cut of the ends of the stems before putting them in the vase of water. She dumped the stem ends into the bin and moved the vase to the kitchen window sill.

"Oh, Newt, I love them," his mother said again, admiring the burst of colours.

"Sorry its not much," Newt said, he gave his mother the box of chocolates who smiled in gratitude. "I've been a bit busy at college and didn't have much time."

"Oh, don't be silly," his mother said. "Its the thought that counts, right? You didn't even need to get me anything."

Newt knows his mother is lying, but he smiles and plays along with it.

Sonya gets back not too much later, bursting through the front door in a flurry of messy blonde hair and shopping bags.

"Sonya?" His mother questions.

Sonya comes in the kitchen moments later and dumps the bags on the table, many of them loosing balance and toppling to the side. She's panting, cheeks flushed red. She brushes back the hair off her face.

"I only asked for you to get wine. Whats all this?"

Sonya takes a deep breath. "Well, I realised while I was there that we all like different wines, so I got us a bottle each instead of us all having to drink the same wine. And then I realised that we haven't got a pudding apart from your torte, which will last about five seconds so I bought ice cream, banoffee pie and chocolate eclairs as well."

"Wow," Newt replied. Looking at the mass of food and bottles on the table.

"Welcome home, brother," Sonya smiled. She pulled him in for a hug to tight it hurt, she lacked his mothers comforting frame.

His mother cooked lasagna for dinner and as Sonya explained, they all had a bottle of wine each which, to be honest, was a bit much. Newt barely drank any of his, simply sipped his first glass and didn't pour himself another. He was a lightweight, he knew that and the last thing he needs is to get slaughtered on his mothers birthday and say or do something he shouldn't.

So, he laid off the alcohol but managed to eat enough desert to make himself feel sick. Sonya was right in that the torte his mother made only lasted about five seconds and their portions were so big there wasn't a single chance of seconds. His mothers homemade torte was a creation from heaven and was probably one of the main reasons why Newt loved coming home.

It wasn't until Newt was half-way through his bowl of banoffee pie - his second dessert of the night - that his mother finally asked about college.

"Uh, its good," Newt replied lamely. He could feel his mothers eyes on him and all he could suddenly think about was Thomas.

"Just. . . good?" His mother pressed.

"Great, actually," Newt said. "Its really good, Ma. I'm loving it."

"Good," his mother smiled. "Thats really good, Newt. Made any friends yet?"

"Yeah," Newt said, he dug his fork into his pie. Thomas came to mind again. Friend. "I've made a few."

"Stop being so bland, Newt," Sonya snapped sharply. "Give us some details already!"

Newt laughed at how eager and interested his sister suddenly looked, leaning over her bowl with her chin in her hands like a child being read to.

"They're great, really fun and nice. We'v met up a few times, for pizzas and drinks. But they all have jobs and obviously college so its not like we all see each other everyday," Newt explained.

"And your roommate, whats he like?"

"Well, his name is Minho, and he's a bit of an arse," Newt said. "But a bearable arse. He's good, mum. Honestly."

"Mhm," his mother hummed. "At least you've settled in well. Hows the classes?"

"Brilliant," Newt said truthfully. He loved the classes in every way. "My teacher is. . . well he's weird but he's bloody brilliant at teaching."

His mothers smile grew.

"And one of the girls in my class is in this new friendship group so, that helps," Newt added.

"I'm so happy for you, darling," his mother said, her voice soft and dripping with pride.

Newt smiled at her. "Thank you,"

*


	4. Deeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite long, over 4.4k words, so this is like a sorry that it took so long!
> 
> Fun fact: this is actually chapter 5. For some reason, I was on writers block for chapter 4 so I wrote chapter 5 but then I realised it's been over _2 months_ since I last updated so I thought, fuck it, make it chapter 4.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> p.s: it's my mama's birthday, so happy birthday mum<3<3

Newt has always had good work ethic. He wized through high school, passing every class with imaculate grades. He was the highest scoring student in his school and on the honour roll.

So, why the _hell_ couldn't he finish this assignment?

He'd been working at it all day, and by all day, he means all day. He woke up at the crack of dawn, taking advantage of his free day of classes and throwing himself into the work of Professor Jansons evil assignments. But no matter how much coffee he drinks or how many times he rereads the details sheet, his mind is blank and useless like a piece of crumbled paper.

Minho, who had just got back from a run and must be getting annoyed with the sound of Newt's gnawing on his pen and frustrated groans, suddenly snaps, "Shucking hell! Stop your whining and just go to Teresa's room. She's in your class, she can help you with this stupid essay!"

"Its a report," Newt corrects, but then he sighs, defeated. There's no point arguing when Minho's right. "Fine, I'll text her now."

Grabbing his phone, Newt types the most blunt text he can think of, not sure how it would come across.

_Are you free?_

The reply is almost instant and when the dropped phone buzzes on the desk, Newt physically jumps. He ignores Minho's laughing behind him, and reads it.

_Depends what you want Greenie_

Newt mentally rolls his eyes at the nickname.

_I don't understand Jansons report and Minho is being incredibly unhelpful, can you help?_

_Come by my dorm_

His phone buzzes again before he can reply.

_Thomas is here too ;)_

Newt tries to ignore how the last text brings on a weird, warm swell in his stomach. He also doesn't want to know why Teresa thought to tell him that.

"Okay," Newt starts, getting up. His skin is suddenly tingling and he doesn't like it. "I'm going over Teresa's."

"Finally," Minho groans, his drops his head back onto his pillows and fist bumps the air in victory. "You're so annoying when you're stressing about stupid essays."

" _Report_ ," Newt corrects again. He quickly gathers his papers and folds his laptop, tucking it all into his messenger bag. He flicks Minho's forehead on his way out, laughing at how the other boy flails and shrieks at the surprise.

He walks to Teresa's surprisingly quickly, crossing the campus faster than he's ever done before. Teresa's dorm was on the other side of the college, so Newt hadn't expected to get there so fast. Was he too fast? Did he seem desperate? Too keen? The questions flooded Newt's mind like a flood, waves rolling in too fast for him to process them.

Did he like Thomas? He wondered, the question rolling around and around, bouncing off the inside of his head like a unsettled tennis ball. His stomach twisted and cramped. He'd only met Thomas twice. _Twice_. They had only had less than a handful of conversations, and even Teresa was catching on the drift on Newt's unauthorised. . . what was it? Newt couldn't _love_ Thomas, he couldn't even _like_ Thomas. Newt had to play it safe, Newt had to—

He comes out of his thoughts when he realises he's been standing outside the dorm building, staring at the front door for at least five minutes. His phone buzzed in his pocket, the feeling almost shaking Newt physically.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to find a text from Teresa.

_If you keep staring at the building, someone might take you for a stalker and call 911. Get your ass up here Greenie - room 22_

Newt would have rolled his eyes, if he wasn't so worried about the red blush of embarrassment crawling up his cheeks and neck, burning his ears. _Damn it, Teresa._

Newt didn't wait another minute before he tucked his phone into his pocket and walked into the building. He waited for the elevator, hoping it would take its time and ignored the claustrophobia crawling across his skin like dancing ants. If he takes the stairs, he'll arrive at Teresa's dampening with sweat and his face swelling red.

The lift took its time, but eventually he got to the second floor. He stood outside Teresa's door, debating to knock or just wait, when the door flew open to reveal the brunette girl on the other side.

"You sure do take your time, Greenie," Teresa said with a lop-sided smirk.

Newt drew in a sharp breath. "Uh, yeah. I—"

"Just get in here, you're letting all the heat out." Teresa said, motioning inside.

"You have the heating on? It's not even the beginning of October." Newt said, but he entered none the less. Walking into the apartment was like walking into a hot air bag. It was like a slap to the face, almost too hot. The apartment was small, but it was bigger than the dorm Newt stayed in. There was an actual kitchen, small and boxy, a tiny living room that looked more like a bedroom, both of the rooms linked with no walls, basically one big room. There was two doors, one, Newt assumed, leading to the shared bedroom and the other to the bathroom. Newt was surprised, because he hadn't seen one of the more expensive rooms. It was small and cosy.

"I don't care if its September, its freaking cold, okay?" Teresa sniped, shutting the door behind them and moving into the kitchen. "Do you want a cookie? My mum gave them to me when I visited her this weekend. They're chocolate chip." Teresa added, shaking the box she had in her hands and wiggling her eyebrows.

Newt laughed lightly, dropping his bag on one end of the couch. "Sure. Thanks."

They got started, having Teresa explaining the whole thing again, in less complicated words, made the whole thing much easier. Newt continued to munch on the cookies, the plate of four disappearing embarrassingly quickly but Teresa didn't seem bothered.

It took all of Newt's control not to keep looking around the apartment because, where was Thomas? Had he left? Did Teresa lie? Was he here? The questions, like the first round, spun in Newt's head in a dizzying affect. Newt took sheepish glances, casually taking a peak towards the doors, in the kitchen, at the front door. He didn't realise he was being obvious until Teresa rose a confused — and an amused? — eyebrow at him. Newt felt his cheeks how again.

"Where is, uh. . . Where's Thomas?" Newt asked, rubbing his neck. His skin was burning.

Teresa smirked at him. "He's in the shower."

Newt's eyes almost budged out of his head.

Thomas. Was in the _shower_.

His throat got physically stuck in his throat. "I— uh. . ."

Teresa laughed, shaking her head and looking back down at her work.

Newt frowned suddenly. Why would Thomas be showering at Teresa's dorm? Didn't Thomas have his own shower? Newt knows he doesn't need to contemplate them being together; in a relationship, but Newt can't help but have horrific thoughts of incest insert into his mind.

Teresa must be a mind reader, because she looks up with a unamused face and says, "Thomas' shower is really dodgy and only has cold water, so he showers here sometimes."

Newt nods. "Oh. Right. Well, I—"

He cuts himself off when Teresa gives him a shit-eating grin.

It was hard then for Newt to concentrate on the assignment now that he knew Thomas was next door, naked and wet and-

Newt seriously needed to get his thoughts under control. Just because Thomas was there, doesn't mean anything. Newt didn't want anything, he made a promise to himself that he'd stay out of the spotlight and away from relationships because of what happened.

It was another five minutes of Newt struggling to concentrate before one of the doors behind him opened. He stiffened, risking a look over his shoulder and instantly regretted it.

Thomas was walking out, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants that clung in all the right places and a baggy red sweatshirt with holes and rips littering the sleeve cuffs. He was barefoot, hair still dripping wet and clinging to his forehead like washed up curls of black seaweed. His cheeks were flushed, a tint of pleasant warmth glowing out from his pale skin.

Thomas stopped short when he noticed Newt, and that he was staring.

"Oh, hey," Thomas said, flashing a smile. "Didn't realise you were coming over."

Newt closed his mouth with an audible click, realising it was open and he was most likely drooling because _holy mother of God_ , he was so gone.

"I— uh, y-yeah—" he stammered, and felt his cheeks burn red. This was going so bad.

"Newt was struggling with the report so he came over to help," Teresa said, and for once, Newt had never been more thankful for her presence. "You cooking spaghetti bolognese tonight?"

Thomas' eyes lingered on Newt for a few moments, before they dragged to Teresa and he nodded. "Sure. You staying, Newt?"

"Yes." Newt said before he could stop himself. His eyes widened, "I mean if you— I can go— I don't want to—"

"He'll stay," Teresa said, and Newt could hear the laugh in her tone. She was probably finding this so amusing. "Thanks, Tom."

Thomas nodded again before he went into the kitchen and _shit_ , why did the two rooms have to be connected? Newt had no escape now, no chance to let out a ragged breath or scold himself for being a hopeless romantic with a pathetic teenage crush.

They continued with the report, Teresa's random comments going unheard because all of Newt's focus was keeping his eyes off the person flying around the kitchen. Soon, the smell of chicken fajitas flooded into the apartment, filling the room in a sweet and hypnotising smell that had Newt almost falling off the couch.

It wasn't long before Thomas was announcing dinner being ready and newt may or may not have been far too desperate to pack away his papers and laptop. He was practically scrambling for his life, stumbling off the couch and into the kitchen before Teresa had even piled her papers.

Thomas only laughed softly. The gentle melody of blessed giggles that made Newt's heart run flips and bounds.

After taking one bite of Thomas' spaghetti bolognese, Newt felt like weeping. All the stereo-typical stereotypes he'd heard growing up about women being better cooks was flown out the window after the first organismic bite. Newt had never tasted anything so delicious and even his mothers famous roast was like a ready meal compared to Thomas' bowl of heaven.

Newt translated all of this into embarrassing moans, to which Thomas and Teresa laughed at him for until his cheeks were so red they matched the pasta sauce.

"This is incredible, Thomas," Newt said, calmly. Inside, he was like a child bounding around on Christmas morning. His whole system was alive, burning with this fiery fuel.

Thomas waved a hand. "It's nothing."

"Thomas did all the cooking in the house," Teresa chimed in, shovelling spoonfuls of spaghetti and pasta into her mouth like the next meal is a million days away. "He had this huge recipe book filled with all these different and weird foods. He spent hours, and I mean, _hours_ trying to make everything."

Thomas shot her a glare. "Yes, Teresa. He gets it. At least I can cook, unlike some people who almost burned the kitchen down make shortbread."

"That was one time!" Teresa exclaimed, looking like she was barely hiding back a smile at the memory. "I'm a brilliant cook."

Thomas scoffed. "You could burn water."

"Fuck off," Teresa said, tossing a plain piece of paste across the table and hitting Thomas square in the forehead. "Do you cook, Newt?" She asked once she'd skilfully stifled her laughs at the deadpanned look Thomas shot her.

Newt looked up, mouth full of pasta, looking like a stuffed chipmunk. He swallowed. "Uh, no. My mum does all the cooking."

"Mum's are the best cooks," Teresa agreed, nodding seriously.

"God forbid when you become a mum," Thomas muttered into the rim of his water glass.

Newt chocked on the laugh in his throat when he heard, and Thomas shot him a amused smile.

"What?" Teresa asked.

"Nothing!" Thomas smiled, feigning innocence.

Teresa didn't buy it, and threw another piece of pasta.

*

It was another few hours before Newt finally packed to leave. The dinner was over, and by this point they'd all moved into the living room to carry on with work. Thomas had joined them, much to Newt's embarrassment when he couldn't — _physically couldn't_ — keep his head down and focus. The hours past quickly, though, and before Newt knew it, Teresa was kicking them both out with a shout of her needing her 'beauty sleep'.

They walked out of the building, the cold air biting from the dropped temperature. The college was lit by streetlights and wall light, glowing softly.

Beside him, now dressed with a pair of trainers and a black jacket on top, Newt sees Thomas pull out a white box, removing a cigarette and putting it between his lips. Newt feels his heart begin to race because that was the most attractive thing he's seen in years.

And then Thomas is looking at him, holding out the box.

"Want one?"

"Oh, uh- yeah." Newt stammered, taking a white stick with flubbing hands. Thomas lit the end of his with a flick of a silver lighter, handing it to Newt before taking a heavy drag.

Newt looks at the cigarette in his hand, the small object that looks so innocent to anyone who had no idea of its consequences. He hasn't smoked since he was with George, and even then, it was more of a peer pressure until he finally found the relief in it. George was like that, forcing and dominant, making Newt do something until he grew to like it himself.

"You okay?" Thomas asked, breaking Newt out of his spiralling thoughts.

Newt nodded, looking at Thomas, who looked more soft and warm in the dim light. For once, Newt realised he meant it. George was gone, Newt was here and no one was going to hurt him.

Newt lit his cigarette between his lips, breathing in the intoxicating nicotine and letting it out in a white cloud of smoke.

They walk through the campus, and Newt finds himself wondering what happened to Thomas when he was younger. He seems so unaffected now, so at ease and content with life yet his past speaks anything other. His mother is gone, and his father was an abusive bastard, so how could he be so okay with everything around him?

It made Newt feel guilty, selfish, and arrogant. He was whining about his own problems, about George using him and all the shit that went with it. Thomas had his whole life ripped away from him at god knows what age, and yet here he was, dealing with his bucket-load-of-shit better than Newt was.

"What happened to your mum?" Newt asked, and instantly, he felt like crying. Who asks stuff like that? Who just comes out with stuff like that?

Thomas looked at him, seeming surprised but not angry, or hurt or dejected. He took a breath of his cigarette.

"She died of stomach cancer was I was nine. My dad had left by then, so it was just us," Thomas explained. "Teresa's mom and my mom knew each other, so me and T were basically like siblings even before Tulusa adopted me."

"Did you have no other family members?" Newt asked before he could stop himself. Thomas didn't seem bothered by the intense questions, so Newt couldn't stop himself.

"My mother was an only child, parents died young and never got to know her own family. I never knew my dads side," Thomas shrugged like it was no big deal.

Newt nodded, though he didn't feel like he understood. He could never understand what that felt like, and hopefully never will.

*

If anyone asked, Newt was simply resting. He was just walking back from class to his dorm room but stopped for a little break. What was actually happening, was Newt didn't have class today. He also never had a need to walk past this part of the college and it was actually a serious detour from his usual travel. But that doesn't matter, he's just doing some extra exercise today. And by some random chance, Newt might have found out what class Thomas was doing — . . .seriously? — and then proceeded to find out where that class is and when. So he may or may not be waiting outside Thomas' class to see if Thomas wants to hang out.

It's not too long after he gets there — 22 minutes to be exact — before the class door opens and students pour out. Newt instantly stands from where he was sitting on the bench - resting. He grabs his satchel, slinging it onto his shoulder while he scans the crowd for the fluffy brown hair he'd come to know.

"Thomas!" He shouts when he see's it above the crowd, and then he suddenly remembers he's meant to be resting, just passing through. He train of thought is thrown off track when Thomas turns around, following the call of his name until he finds Newt. He smiles, bright and breathtaking and Newt feels like he's been physically punched.

"Hey, Newt,"Thomas greets, still smiling, when Newt catches up to him. He's wearing a pair of plain washed out black jeans, slightly baggy around the knee to show their old age, and a navy blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow and showing the beginnings of the maze of tattoos climbing up his arms. Newt has to control himself not to stare at the black ink across the expanse of the pale skin and instead look at Thomas' face.

"Uh, hi," Newt replies, breathless.

"What are you doing here?" Thomas asks. Of course he'd ask that.

"I've — uh — got class," Newt replies. He felt oddly out of place, hands fidgety. He found himself playing with the leather strap of his bag.

"Cool," Thomas nods, "I've got a shift at the pub, so. . ."

"Now?" Newt frowned. What pubs are open _now?_ It was three in the afternoon.

"Yeah, I got to get it ready for tonight. Fill the pumps, clean the tables and stuff." Thomas shrugged.

"I'll come," Newt rushed before he could stop himself.

Thomas' face remained neutral, if not a bit amused at Newt's eagerness. "You. . . want to come to work?"

"I can help you," Newt offered anxiously. "Y'know, who pairs of hands are better than one,"

"I thought you had class?"

Well, shit.

Newt fumbled, tongue tripping. "Oh— I, uh. No, I— I meant I just finished class. I just finished, so. . . I'm free now."

Thomas stared at him for a moment, hazel eyes studying him, calculating him as if looking for the flaw in his lie. Newt felt almost squeamish under the intense yet soft gaze.

"Okay," Thomas said after a moment, nodding and smiling. "Sure, you can come. I'm sure Brenda won't mind the extra help."

Newt steeled himself. "Brenda will be there?"

"No, but she runs the place with her uncle Jorge. She sometimes gets a bit iffy about non-employees coming in during closed hours," Thomas shrugged, flashing a bright smile. "It'll be fine, though. She'll never know."

Newt felt a surge of excitement in the thought of Thomas seeking him around. He smiled back, nodding.

"Okay," Newt agreed, "as long as it doesn't get you into trouble."

Thomas waved a hand in dismiss and turned. "Don't sweat it. Brenda's cool, she'll be fine."

They began to walk down the street, Newt having to keep skipping to catch up with Thomas' fast walking and the boys quick strides.

"We gotta go your dorm first," Thomas said, and Newt was about to ask why, when the brunette continued to explain. "I don't have a car, so Minho lets me use his."

"Woah," Newt breathed. "Minho just lets you use his car? He wouldn't even let me use his body wash the other day. I thought he had a sharing problem."

Thomas laughed. "You're right, Minho does have a sharing problem, but I've known him forever and he knows I can't afford a car. I pay him back anyway, put my own petrol in and that stuff."

Newt nodded, understanding that Thomas probably couldn't afford a car at that age - not many people could.

"How many jobs do you work?" Newt asked as they walked.

"Two," Thomas replied. "Part time at the bar and I'm an apprentice at the tattoo parlour in town."

Newt's eyebrows rose. "That's impressive," he said, but what he meant was that it was almost sad Thomas had to work two jobs, still unable to afford a car and yet Thomas was this ball of sun rays and happiness. Newt couldn't get his head around it. Thomas has to work at the pub, which seems to include this favouring overtime (or maybe thats just Thomas' kind aura) and the job at the tattoo parlour while Newt has to do neither. Anything he wants, his mother will get for him. He wonders what its like not to have any parents, no one to rely on or help you out.

Minho's car wasn't anything flash or special, just a simple beaten up Volvo T5. When Newt first saw the car, parked crookedly against the curb like it had been dumped in a rush, he hadn't thought for a second the thing would start, let alone go above 20 miles per hour. He was proved wrong, of course, when Minho reared the car into rumbling life, skidded it off the curb with a metallic scrape and sped it down the road.

Thomas drove at a much more steady pace, although still a little fast for Newt's liking. He figured Thomas and Minho probably learnt together, so they were most likely picking up each others traits and road habits. Thomas, at least, didn't ram every curb, skid every corner and yell at any driver that came in a dangerously close distance to the car.

The journey to the pub took the same time as it did with Minho driving, and Thomas only grinned when Newt mentioned it. They clambered out, a when they got to the doors, Thomas pulled out a collection of silver keys on a small ring. He fumbled for a moment, long, slender fingers fiddling with the keys to find the right one. Newt felt his eyes zero in on the thin, veiny hands that looked both fragile and strong, soft and hard. He'd never felt so hypnotised by someones hands, but he found himself blocking out the rest of the world around him as he stared at the pale skin stretched across the tops of Thomas' hands.

The opening of the door broke the seal Newt had fallen in and his head snapped up in time to see Thomas take a step inside.

The pub was strangely lifeless without the room filled with people. It made sense, in a way, but it was almost daunting to see it so empty. The lights were off, and Newt wondered how Thomas managed to get to the other side of the room without tripping over a chair or a table to turn the lights on.

"The delivery guy should be here at four, so we have fifteen minutes to get the tables and chairs out and clean the pumps," Thomas said, putting down his collection of keys on the bar counter with a soft 'clank'.

"Right," Newt nodded, looking around at the stacked chairs and tables that had been pushed against the walls. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just pull the tables out so they're not against the walls and put four chairs around each. I'm gonna go open up out back and get the pumps and stock room ready," Thomas replied, flashing Newt a warm smile before turning and making his way to the dark wooden door beside the bar. He turned when he got to the door, and Newt hadn't even realised he'd been staring until Thomas turned around to look at him. "Thank you." he said, voice soft and genuine.

Newt felt his cheeks glow red and thanked the dim light for covering it. He smiled back, unable to hide the happiness blooming in his chest. "You're welcome, Tommy."

The rest of the afternoon was spent arranging tables until the delivery guy — Mick — turned up with crates upon crates of bottles and wrapped food packets. Newt couldn't imagine what it must be like to restock the pub alone, because doing it with Thomas tired him out to the point of his shoulders almost popping out their sockets when he tried to lift a specific crate of Jack Daniels. Thomas had laughed, the adorable asshole, and took the crate for him, carrying it in with little struggle. Newt may or may not have taken that opportunity to stare at the rippling muscles on Thomas' upper arms.

They cleaned and stocked the pumps, wiping down the bar surfaces and filling the stock room with any left overs. It was almost 7:30 when they finished, and Newt was utterly exhausted.

He dropped down on one of the bar stools with an exaggerated groan.

Thomas laughed where he was standing on the opposite of the bar, drying the glasses with a white tea-towel. "Tired?"

Newt rested his head in the crook of his arm on the bar counter. He nodded, groaning again. God, he was never going to volunteer to help do this again.

"Don't be so dramatic," Thomas chuckled, putting down the dry glass and leaning against the counter, his fingers inches away from Newt's bare arm. "Well, if we're done here, why don't we go and get some pizza? I know this wicked pizzeria down town."

Newt raised his head and smiled. "That'd be good."

Thomas nodded, smile growing wider. "Awesome! Let me go lock up the back and we can go."

Newt watched his go, feeling his heart beating widely in his chest. There was something special about Thomas that shone through the hideous black cloud Newt felt himself be surrounded in. Thomas was like a light in the dark, a drop of colour in a grey spectrum. He was breathtaking and calming at the same time. He made Newt want to cry and laugh at the same time because he was so mysteriously kind and gorgeous and Newt _knew_ he was falling hard.

So damn hard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — unedited.
> 
> leave kudos and comments!


	5. Even If

It took Newt 6 weeks since attending Glades Prep to get himself a job. It was almost like a resolution to do it, to be independent and to stop relying on his mum for money. Everyone in his friendship group had a job, like many other college students. It was almost mandatory to have one during the years you attend.

It was strange, because although Newt felt like he was finally fitting in, finally normal and common like the rest of them, he still hated it and made it everyday's will not to run out and quit. Working at the college coffee shop wasn't so bad, and he didn't mind the smell of coffee. The only problem was that he was embarrassingly untrained. He walked in asking for a job five days before and barely finished his sentence for asking for a job before the guy hired him. Alby, his boss, had told him to come back the next day at 6 o'clock in the morning to get started.

Newt had been there on the dot, walking in as the bell above his head chimed his arrival. He'd barely said good morning before Alby was throwing a apron at his head and telling him to follow him. Alby proved himself to be a demanding and sharp kinda guy, though he seemed kind enough, he was still far too abrupt and made a fairly clear impression on Newt during the first five minutes of their company.

Alby had given him a quick run through of the machines, rushed demonstrations of how they work before he was moving on, showing him the stock room and the till. He opened the cafe five minutes later, telling him if he needed anything then to just shout into the back room and he'll come out to help. And then he was gone.

Newt's first day, honestly, couldn't have gone worse. He struggled with the machines, forgetting to press specific buttons and waiting too long before getting the sausage rolls out of the oven which lead to them being burnt. He spilt coffee, got orders wrong and even dropped the money he was handed over the counted more than once. He gave the wrong change, asked for the wrong amount of money and by the end of his first day, he was close to crying. He was surprised that Alby didn't fire him when he walked in after Newt closed the door for the night. Alby did, however, give Newt an unimpressed look when he saw the messy state of his apron and the work space by the coffee machines.

"Be here at six again tomorrow," was all Alby said before he practically waved Newt out the door.

Was surprised Newt more, was that even after the disastrous repeats of his first day, he was still clinging to the job five days later. By this time, Newt had figured out the coffee shops patterns. It was always busy in the mornings from 6-9 when students were at their peak for coffee needs and breakfast. It quietened down from 10-11:30 before the linch rush came through and it was another two hours of hectic chaos. It was manageable from 3-5 before the shop shut, and then the day was over. Newt had also gotten better on the machines, at least now he was amateur and could make a cup of coffee quickly without any spillages. 

Newt has been in the cafe since lunch time, coming in after his class ended. Alby had been behind the counter when he got there, and barely looked twice at Newt before he was disappearing into the back room for Newt to take his place. Newt hadn't taken it badly this time, knowing this was usual for Alby and no matter how busy the shop will come, Newt will not get any assistance or help because Alby is 'off duty'.

Newt was collecting a students change, counting the coins quickly despite the lack of cue behind the customer, when the bell above the door chimed. The sound was unnoticeable now to Newt, the ring of the bell floating to his subconscious without fully being registered unlike on his first day when he was as skittish as a preyed mouse. It wasn't until Newt looked up, handing the customer his change and saying a 'thank you' when he noticed who had walked in.

Newt groaned, eye's wide as he stared at the pair coming up to the counter. "Oh, shuck."

Minho grinned, leaning against the counter on his elbows. "Hey, shank," he said. 

"What do you want?" Newt sighed, dropping his head to his chest. This was going to go badly.

"Coffee. Obviously," Frypan replied.

"So," Minho smirked. "Do we get mates rates?"

Newt frowned, light eyebrows furrowing. "Mates rates?" He echoed.

"Yeah, mates rates. Discounts, free coffee, y'know,"

"Uh no," Newt shook his head. "You're not getting free coffee."

"Discount then,"

"No,"

"50 percent off,"

"No,"

"25?"

"No,"

"10?"

"NO!" Newt shouted, swallowing when his voice boomed through the almost empty shop. He sighed, "I can't give you a discount."

Minho rolled his eyes. "Fine. Two large coffees, coffee bitch."

"Fine. And don't call me that," Newt replied, turning to fix the machines to make two coffees.

While the coffee's were being made, Newt punched in the numbers on the cash register. "Is that all?"

"Well, if you want to throw in a free saus-"

"Minho," Newt drawled, rolling his eyes.

Minho huffed. "Alright, alright. We'll have a slice of lemon cake."

Newt nodded, pressing the numbers. "Didn't think you liked lemon."

"I don't. It's for Thomas, or at least when the shank decides to turn up."

Newt stiffened at the name, his muscles coiling for the split second. He was sure Frypan saw, the way the boy's calculating eyes were on Newt when it happened. Bless the boy for not saying anything, though that didn't make the embarrassment differ.

"Uh," Newt said, "T-Thomas is coming? Here?"

Minho nodded, but he wasn't looking at Newt anymore and instead eyeing the inside of the glass Tip that was half full with crinkled dollar bills and spare coins. 

"What are you. . ." Newt coughed, his throat itchy and dry. "Uh, what are you guys doing?"

"Forest run," Minho replied shortly.

Newt nodded and swallowed thickly. "I'm off in five, can I come with?"

Minho looked up then, eyes blank. For a few moments, he was silent. And then he started chuckling. "You want to go running? You? With the funny limp?"

Newt deadpanned him. "Yes, Minho. Running with a limp is possible."

"You sure you can run without tripping like a girl?" Minho asked, barely holding in a obvious laugh.

Rolling his eyes, Newt collects the coffees that finished brewing behind him. He puts them on the counter, then swiftly pulls open the display of cakes and foods. He picks up the lemon cake, cutting a generous slice — because it's for Thomas.

"You want it wrapped up?" He asked.

Minho was about to answer, looking like he was on the verge of going 'uhhhhh', when the door opened with another soft chime. Newt's eyes instantly flicked over Minho's shoulder to watch Thomas walk in.

Newt felt his mouth water considerably. Thomas was wearing a thin, light grey t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. His thin legs were shadowed with just the right amount of muscle and hair, making him look lean and incredible. 

He smiled when he met Newt's eyes. 

"Hey," he said, coming to stand next to Minho. "I didn't know you worked here."

Newt felt himself smiling but he couldn't think of a response. He racked his mind, fumbling over his thoughts except he couldn't stop thinking about how good Thomas looked without even trying. It was strangely unfair.

"Uh, hi," Newt finally replied, and if Thomas found it awkward, he didn't show it.

"He's been working here all week but hasn't told anyone because he doesn't like the name coffee bitch," Minho said, picking up his cardboard flask of coffee on the counter.

"I thought I told you not to call me that," Newt glared, and then he narrowed his eyes at the Asian. "You haven't paid for that."

Minho rolled his eyes and slammed a twenty on the counter. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, shank," he said. "Alby won't fire you scrawny ass for letting my sip my coffee."

"Alby would. He hates me," Newt sighed, sorting Minho's change before closing the machine tray with his hip and passing the coins over the counter.

"Alby hates everyone. You should be grateful he even hired you." Frypan said.

"What's wrong with me?" Newt asked, and when they all laughed and looked down, he bristled in frustration. "What?"

"Don't worry, Greenie," Frypan said, and the way he stifled a laugh only made Newt more annoyed. 

Newt looked at the clock with a heavy huff and read: 16:32.

He grinned and looked directly at Minho. "I'll go get changed."

"You can do what you want, but you're not coming," Minho said, beginning to turn around.

"Shut up, Minho," Newt replied without a beat. 

"You're coming running with us?" Thomas asked, sounding genially interested. It reminded Newt why he liked Thomas the most.

"Yes," Newt smiled, not waiting to see Thomas' expression so he quickly turned and walked into the backroom, whipping off his apron. He grabbed his rucksack on one of the crates, stuffing the apron inside and pulling out his casual clothes. The sudden realisation dawned on him then that the only clothes he had were a pair of skin tight black jeans, dress shoes and a knitted sweatshirt.

Well, brilliant.

He sighed, ditching the knitted jumper his mother bought him and instead just going with jeans and his grey-work polo shirt. He slipped on his shoes and threw the back over his shoulder.

When he walked back out into the cafe, he was half expecting to find them gone. But when he found Thomas still standing at the counter, picking the last bits of lemon cake off the white-ceramic plate, he felt something in his chest blossom.

Thomas looked up when Newt rounded the counter, and he broke out a smile. 

"Thanks for waiting," Newt said.

"No problem," Thomas replied. "Minho was getting impatient so he and Frypan are waiting outside by the car."

"I thought we were going for a run?"

"We are, but the forest we're running in is a 20 minute drive away," Thomas replied, leaning off the counter to begin to leave. He looked down at Newt suddenly, eyes tracking up and studying his jeans and t-shirt. "You're running in that?"

Newt felt his face heat. "Uh, yeah. I don't have anything else." He admitted sheepishly.

Thomas smiled, turning towards the door. "Don't worry, it'll do. There's worse things you can run in, right?"

Newt let out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah. Far worse."

*

Thomas was right: it took them twenty minutes to get to the forest, and to Newts pleasure and torture, he was sat in the back with Thomas.

The twenty minutes, however, flew by and before Newt knew it, Minho was jerkily pulling off the road and into a large dirt carpark, dotted with old trees and patches of grass leading up to a thick, green and brown forest.

They all clambered out, and instantly, the dusty dirt stirred up off the beige ground and left a thin coating on Newt's black dress shoes. Newt followed the trio into the closest clearing in the trees, following down a dirt track path covered in fallen leaves and broken twigs.

They aren't even a minute into the woods before Thomas and Minho start running. Newt is so startled when they begin sprinting ahead that he physically trips.

"Scaredy cat," Frypan snorts, and Newt shoots him a cold glare.

"Come on," Newt says, and together the pair of them begin to run - more like jog, at a very slow pace.

Newt had never done anything like this. Truth be told, he didn't have a lot of friends at home, and the ones he did have, definitely wouldn't be seen dead doing this. They were all book-worms like him, permanently incased in a book or some kind of factual feud with a teacher. Newt had two friends, both of who could barely walk without their long, uncoordinated limbs getting in the way and causing them to kiss the floor.

This also meant that Newt had no experience in running unless it was running for the last bus. After only about three minutes of the steady jog him and Frypan had chosen, Newt was out of breath. He was panting, feeling beads of sweat break out on the back of his neck and he could feel a stitch forming in his side. Frypan was the same beside him, but Newt wasn't going to stop. He'd had enough humiliation so far, and he wanted this. He wanted to be with Thomas, so he needs to catch up with him.

They ran for ten minutes before Thomas and Minho came into sight. The embarrassing thing was, the pair were running towards then, evidently coming back. Newt swallowed down the embarrassment and continued to run on, even when Frypan disappeared from his sight and fell back into a walk. 

Newt must have been so blinded by his triumph that he missed the sighting of the tree root probing out of the dry dirt. One moment he was running, eyes on Thomas as his mind suddenly supplied him with a cliche love story where two people are running into each others arms, and the next moment he was falling, landing face first in the dust dirt of the forest floor.

Humiliation doesn't even begin to describe the self disgrace Newt felt in that moment. His fall must have been hilarious, because seconds later he heard the most loudest bursts of laugher. He didn't want to look up, to see their faces but the dirt was covering him. Luckily, he hadn't broken anything - or as far as he could tell, he hadn't actually moved yet - because that would have been even more impossibly embarrassing.

He finally braved it and raised his head. He was sprawled out on his front, legs spread behind him like a fallen bambi on ice. The first thing he saw was Thomas running towards him, his smile wiped off his face and expression worried. 

"Oh, shuck, Newt," he said when he got closer. Thomas didn't hesitate to bend down, helping him back onto his knees. Newt would be more ecstatic about his and Thomas' faces being literally inches apart, but he was consumed in embarrassment and half hoped the floor would swallow him up there and then. 

"Are you okay?" Thomas asked, voice high and panicked. His eyes were racking over Newt, as if looking for injury. He was crouching in the dirt now, completely on Newt's level. If he looked up, their eyes would be level with each other.

Newt came to the conclusion Thomas looked gorgeous when he was worried. A very important and relevant conclusion.

"I'm fine," Newt sighed. "Just bruised my pride."

Thomas chuckled, letting out a heavy breath. "Nothing wrong with a bit of bruised pride."

After his soft words, it was like Newt snapped out of the bubble he'd put himself in. Almost loosing himself from looking into Thomas' whiskey eyes, captivated in the way the sun above them made his lusciously long eyelashes cast shadows on his unfairly high cheekbones. Newt came back to the present to sound of Minho dying. Dying of laughter.

Looking over Thomas' shoulder, he saw Frypan and Minho standing together - well, Frypan was standing, Minho was on the floor like a clapping seal, snorting unattractively. Newt was pretty sure he was crying.

"Ignore them," Thomas said.

Newt sighed and shook his head. "That was so embarrassing," he admitted.

Thomas smiled. "It was pretty funny."

Newt glared, eyes holding no heat. "Shut up."

His comment only made Thomas laugh, and suddenly he didn't regret falling one bit. Thomas looked blissfully happy, even if he was laughing at Newt's incoordination.

"Come on, let's get you up. Make sure nothings broken," Thomas said, already rising to his feet. He helped Newt, holding his hands to get him up. Newt would, if it was anyone else, rejected the offer and got to his feet himself, trying to regain a fragment of pride back. But it was Thomas, and his hands look too soft and warm to decline.

Minho was still on the floor laughing. At least Frypan had calmed down somewhat, though he was still chuckling. Minho, however, was beet red in the face from laughing so much.

"Shut up, Minho," Newt grumbled, dusting his jeans off. Newt noted how Thomas didn't move from his side, standing teasingly close.

It took another minute for Minho to calm down enough to breath again and get to his feet.

"That made my day," Minho said, whipping his eyes from the tears. He didn't even bother trying to hide his amusement. The smug asshole.

"Shuck off, jackass," Newt continued to glare.

Minho's face brightened up. "You're catching onto Glader's slang!" He cheered, and Frypan chuckled beside him. "Nice one, Greenie!"

Newt rolled his eyes, about to tell him to shut up again, but then he heard Thomas chuckling under his breath, and suddenly he stopped. The sound was so soft and gentle and beautiful, Newt didn't want it to stop - even if it did mean Minho to keep talking.

"Well, I think this calls for some celebratory pizza," Minho announced.

"What are we celebrating?" Newt asked, angrily. His pride was still stung, he wasn't going to forget that just because Thomas was the God-wholey man candy standing next to him.

"You proving me right. You did fall like a girl," Minho said.

Newt smacked Minho round the back of the head, making Thomas laugh again and Newt decided he preferred it when he made Thomas laugh.

*

They went for pizza anyway, much to Newt's turn off that they were only eating because of his ultimate fail in running.

They went to Pete's Pizzeria again, sitting in a snug red leather booth. Newt didn't want to think about how, for the second time that day, he was forced and pressed flush next to Thomas. Well, forced is probably the wrong way to describe it, because Newt is not complaining about sitting so close to the attractive teen. They were so close that Newt could smell the faint scent of his aftershave, and it took all of Newt's control not to moan when the smell his his nose.

Minho and Frypan sat opposite them, currently in a heated conversation about the best pizza topping: Minho thinking pepperoni and Frypan arguing pineapple.

"What's yours?" Thomas asked, and Newt found that he'd been staring too long at the others eyes to even realise he'd spoken the words until Thomas frowned a fraction. 

"Oh— uh, pineapple," 

Thomas' face screwed up in a cringe that shouldn't look as adorable as it did. He snapped his head towards Frypan, halting his discussion with Minho to say, "hey, Frypan, you've got another pineapple lover,"

Frypan high-fived high while Minho looked personally insulted. 

"You distrust me, Greenie," he said. "You're with me, right, Thomas? Pepperoni all the way?"

"Shuck, yeah!" Thomas grinned, first bumping Minho. Newt swallowed the bitter tang of jealousy that flooded his out. Pizza toppings meant nothing.

Still, when they ordered, newt asked for pepperoni instead of pineapple. At least no one had the decency to call him out on it, and he blatantly ignored Minho's sly look.

"So," Minho began after a particularly long slurp of his chocolate milkshake. He still had pizza in his mouth when he spoke, and Newt had to fight back the grimace. "Who's packed?"

Newt frowned. "Packed?"

"We're going on a ski trip to Vermont, Minho's been planning it for like a year," Thomas explained, leaning in when he spoke. 

"Yeah, which reminds me. Greenie," Minho turned to him sharply. "Zart can't come because the moron got himself fired and now can't afford it, so we need you to come and even out the number again." 

"Your inviting me skiing?" Newt said, because he wasn't sure if he heard Minho right during his fast talking. 

"Yes, dumbass," Minho rolled his eyes before swiping his milkshake and taking a loud slurp. "So, how 'bout it?" 

"Uh," Newt looked won at his plate of pizza. He could feel the eyes on him and wondered if this was all some cruel trick. No one had ever invited him on a friend holiday before, he wasn't even sure what happened on them. It's skiing, he told himself. You can handle skiing. "Sure," He said, finally. "Sounds like fun." 

Minho grinned, as did Frypan and when Newt spared a glance at Thomas, he was smiling too. Newt felt warm again. 

"I'll talk to you later about money and cost," Minho said, and oh, Newt had forgotten about that.

"I, uh. . . don't know how much I can get from work. When is the trip?" Newt stammered. 

"Two weeks today," Minho answered. "I know it's late notice but we only find out from Zart this morning."

"I don't know if I can get enough money, then. I only started working earlier this week," 

Minho shrugged. "Ask your parents, you're rich enough."

Newt bit back the annoyance from Minho bringing up his mothers money, as he has done various times when Newt made the mistake of asking how Minho affords stuff. Newt also didn't like talking about his parents wealthiness in fort of Thomas, especially now he knows about Thomas' financial situation and the various jobs he had to maintain just to feed himself. 

"Fine," Newt grits out, only because he really wants to go on this trip with Tommy. "I'll see what I can do."

*

Newt brings up the ski trip situation with his mother when he goes home three days later to celebrate his sisters birthday. They're sitting siring the dining table, the empty plates of dinner still laid out in front of them when Newt blurts it out liked word vomit.

His mother, to his surprise, looks pleased and ecstatic. 

"Oh, Newt!" She exclaimed, looking so proud as if he'd win an award or something. "I'm so happy for you! What a brilliant opporunity!"

Newt rose an eyebrow, unconvinced because the last time newt even mentioned wanting to travel she had thorn a fit about the dangers of the world and what could happen if he out on his own. "Really?" He asked, disbelieving. 

"Yes, of course! It's love,y to hear you're fitting in," his mother said, and the tone of her voice was anything but patronising. It was motherly, warm and safe.

"I, uh—" Newt scratch that back of his neck nervously. This was the hard part. "I'm gonna need to borrow some money. F-f for the trip." 

His mothers smile didn't falter. "Of course, love. Can't expect you to pay all that in your own!"

Thomas has to, Thomas does. Newt pushed away the thoughts of Thomas.

"I'll pay you back, I promise. I'll just need a few weeks to work up my wages and I can give you all the money back," Newt said.

"Oh, don't be silly," his mother playfully hit his arm from her chair. "You don't need to pay me back, Hun."

"Okay," Newt said, but he was going to anyway. He just wasn't going to tell his mother, not yet, anyway. There was no point arguing with her about it, but he was going to pay her back. It was mostly for the pride of himself, knowing his college friends have to work for their money, so he's not going to flaunt around with a stack of cash his mother just handed him. 

*

He headed back to the train station a few days later, texting Minho to say he'll be getting back late. He had classes tomorrow, so he couldn't stay any longer. 

Newt was standing on the platform, bag slung over his shoulder. The last train back to college was in fifteen minutes, and he was debating about getting a coffee before it arrived, when something caught his eye. He recognises the figure instantly, and it was like all the air inside his lungs was physically knocked out. 

George. 

Newt couldn't breath. His skin was tingling, on fire and ice. His heart was hammer jacking in his chest, fighting to burst past his rib cage and splatter on the platforms floor. He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving his white and pale. His legs shook underneath him and suddenly, he was running. 

Stumbling was probably a more accurate way to describe the way Newt made his way to the bathroom. He fell through the door, almost braining himself on the sink. He dropped to the floor, legs unable to hold him up anymore. His vision was darkening, lungs and brain deprived of oxygen. He was scared. Scared and alone and panicking. He couldn't imagine how pathetic he looked; sitting on the dirty bathroom floor, face red and covered in tears and snot. 

He didn't even realise he'd rolled up his sleeves until he felt the sudden a sting to the undies of his arms. He looked down, wrists and arms covered in thin, red lines from his frantic nails that had been scratching manically at his scarred arms. He let out a frustrated sob at the slight, but he wasn't sure if he was crying at then fact that they were there or the fact that they wouldn't reopen and give him the small stings of pain that always brought him back to reality. It'd been too long since he'd cut, he realised. They'd scared over, turning into white, jerky lines along the inside of his arms. 

The panic still has him in its clutches, squeezing his lung and chest like their stuck in metal clamp. He can feel the vomit climbing up his throat as he snatched my his phone out of his rucksack. His fingers are trekking so much and his eyes are blurry with tears that he doesn't even realise who he's phoning until their voicemail answer machine comes through.

_"Hey, it's Thomas. Sorry it couldn't take your call, but just leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can,"_

Newt lays his voicemail five times before he feels himself begin to calm down. The repeat of Thomas' voice, calm and familiar, made the panic lesson around Newt's chest and finally, he could breath again. 

The announcement of Newt's train pulling up to the platform had him finally getting up. He wiped his trousers quickly, brushing off the dust and dirt from the floor, before he grabbed his bag and phone, exiting the bathroom hastily. The train was already at the platform, so Newt jumped on with his head down and took the closest seat he could find. The train was quiet, thankfully, so Newt scored a window seat with no strangers sitting next to or around him. 

He rested his head against the cool glass of the window, letting it a heavy, exhausted breath. He hated panic attacks, but the tiredness that gripped his bones afterwards was almost just as bad. 

His phone vibrated in his hand, and Newt was half tempted not to answer it. Curiosity won, and he reluctantly glanced down at the illuminated screen.

His heart jumped.

It was a text from Thomas. 

Newt swiped the phone unlocked quickly, reading his message.

_Sorry I missed your call. Everything okay?_

Newt sighed. There was so much he wanted to say, but didn't have the guts to say it. He typed a reply.

_I'm fine. On the train home now._

He closed his eyes and turned off his phone, dumping it in his bag just as the train jolted into movement.

 


	6. Good Times

The date for the ski trip came around faster than Newt had anticipated. After Minho had given him the dates, costing and hotel details, Newt had spent half the following night trying to work out his required hours to save up the money while leaving enough time to stay on top of his college work. It was hell, and it was hard, but Newt was more than proud when he finished his last shift at the coffee shop, walking out with a bright smile and a knowing thought that the last of his needed money will be dropping his bank account a few hours later.

The night before the ski trip, Newt got barely any sleep. His mind was alive and buzzing, excited and nervous. He was tingling with anxiety, both good and bad. He was swarmed with thoughts of what it would be like, what might happen and what could go wrong. Newt had always been a worrier, and while his sister always teased him for it, it was better than being careless.

Minho, however, will most likely strongly disagree with that statement. In the end he got so frustrated with Newt's frantic mothering and fluttering that he physically shut him out of the dorm and told him to wait out there while he finished packing.

"I hate you," was the first thing Newt said when his idiotic dorm-mate opened their door half an hour later.

Minho rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Greenie, you love me. Now grab your bags."

Newt complied, entering the room and grabbing his bags that were still sitting on his made bed - exactly where he had left them before he was rudely shoved out of his own room. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, gasping.

"Minho!" He yelped. "We have ten minutes until the train leaves!"

"Oh stop worrying," Minho sighed, waving a hand idly as he stood in the corridor. "It's your worrying that's going to make us late, now _hurry up_ and let me lock up."

Newt grabbed his bags in a sudden haste, running and stumbling out the door. Minho took his time locking up, rolling his eyes every time Newt pressed him into hurrying.

They drove to the train station in 9 minutes, and because Newt is an organised person (paranoid, as Minho calls it), he already booked their tickets online and printed them, so they were able to go straight through and onto the platform. The train was pulling up as they got there, and Newt felt a sudden real of panic because he couldn't see everyone else.

"Come on, Greenie," Minho said, rushing past him. "They're on the second carriage."

Newt didn't question how Minho knew that and instead legged it as fast as he could. The conductor was blowing a sharp whistle as he leaped on, bags juggling in his arms. The doors closed moments after he boarded the train, sliding shut. He let out a heavy and rushed breath, relived that they had made it and not missed the train because Minho is a slow di—

Newt's eyes caught a familiar brown, a sparkling whiskey that was breathtaking and mesmerising.

"Newt! Minho!" Thomas grinned, waving from where he was sitting a few rows away from the doors. "You made it," Thomas said when they got close enough.

Newt smiled, he couldn't help it. Thomas' bright eyes and wide, excited grin was contagious.

Everyone who said they'd be there, was there. The train was considerably empty, only two other people in the whole cart and they were at the far opposite end, so the group had managed to score two booths with tables opposite each other. In one booth, there was Winston, Frypan and Gally while in the other was Brenda, Teresa and Thomas.

"I was banking on you two being late," Gally said, when Minho dropped down next to him.

Newt was silently thankful Minho chose that seat, and he barely hid his pleased smile when he sat down next to Thomas, flashing the boy another soft look and feeling his heart race because Thomas looked _good_ in a plain black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tattoos revealed and snaking up his arms and under the sleeves. His hair was fluffy and messy, splayed upwards off his forehead. He looked cuddly and sexy at the same time. It was highly unfair.

"I'm glad you could make it," Thomas said, smiling still.

Newt felt his breath come short. "I'm glad I could make it too."

*****

The train journey lasted over 10 hours. By the time they got to Vermont, Newt was more than angsty to get off. 10 hours is a fucking long time, even if he was sitting beside Thomas who spent most of his time doodling in his sketchbook and napping with his head leaning against the window.

When the train pulled into the station, Newt had never ran so fast. The fresh air was like a drug and he felt giddy when he took gulp fills of it, blatantly ignoring Minho's snickering behind him.

They all clambered into taxis, trunks packed with bags and sitting shoulder to shoulder in the backseats. When they got to the mountain hotel lodge, Newt was more than surprised to find it almost a mile out from the actual mountain resort.

Inside, it looked like it had been freshly built. The walls didn't have a single mark and patch, fresh soft whites and deep reds. The kitchen was modern and large, a breakfast bar with stools and a large dining table in a semi-connected room. There was a lounge with a deep cushioned sofas and a love seat. The three main rooms were in an open plan, with large floor to ceiling windows on the far outside wall and a pair of french doors leading out to what looked like a decking.

"Okay," Minho began as he dropped his bag down on the dining table. "We've got two double bedrooms, one single, a sofa bed and the couch. Who's going where?"

"Me and Brenda are having one of the double bedrooms," Teresa said instantly.

Minho nodded. "Done. A double, single and two couches to go."

"I want the single," Gally said, and Newt knew no one was going to argue about wanting to share a bed with the grumpy storm,

"As you wish, Galileo," Minho said, and Gally snarled almost anomalistically.

"Winston and I paid the most for this place, so I think it's only fair if we get a proper bed instead of a sofa," Frypan supplied.

Minho rolled his eyes. " _Fine_ ," he looked to Newt. "Well, I'm not sharing with you and I know Thomas kicks, so you two are on the sofa bed."

Newt was going to protest, mostly on Thomas' behalf, but then the said teen was smiling broadly, grabbing his bag and looking at Newt.

"Uh," Newt stammered, feeling hot and flustered. He had to _share a bed_ with _Thomas_. This was totally _not_ going to end bad.

"Come on, shank," Thomas said, smile shifting into a smirk that had Newt's chest close to exploding. "You better not snore."

Newt snorted and followed Thomas into their assigned room. It was smallish, a reasonable size for two people. They had their own bathroom attached, so that was an added bonus. Inside the room was literally the sofa pressed against the long wall, two dressers directly parallel to it and a small, floor to ceiling wardrobe behind the door. There was a second door, the one leading to the bathroom, and the rest of the walls were mostly window, making the room light and bright.

"Cute," Thomas said. "Cute and cosy!"

Newt smiled, shaking his head as he put his bag down on the sofa. They could unfold it later. He looked in the bathroom, finding a shower, toilet and a sink.

"You okay with sharing a room?" Thomas asked when Newt entered the bedroom again.

The question, though the tone held no aggression or negative feeling, had Newt stopping short. He frozen, muscles stiffening. What was Thomas implying?

He knew it was too good to be true. Thomas didn't want to share a room with him, and this was his kind and gentle way of trying to tell him he wanted to switch rooms with someone.

Brilliant.

"Y-you can switch, if you want," Newt said, trying to stop his voice from shaking. He fiddled with his hands, shifting from foot to foot. "I won't hate you for it."

Thomas frowned. "What? I don't want to—. . ." Thomas trailed off, frown deepening before it dropped off his face completely. Guilt replaced it. "Oh, you thought. . . you thought I wanted to switch rooms?"

Newt hesitated before he nodded. Why did he always feel so stupid.

Thomas smiled gently. "I didn't mean it like that, Newt. I was just checking you were okay with it. It doesn't bother me who I share the room with, and it certainly doesn't bother me that it's you."

"Really?"

Thomas nodded, still smiling.

"Come on," he said, beginning to walk towards the door. "Let's see what everyone else is doing."

Newt nodded, the worry draining out of him, and followed Thomas out of the room.

They found Minho, Winston and Gally sitting on the decking outside, sitting in a wide circle of deck chairs.

"Where's Frypan and the girls?" Thomas asked when he sat down on the chair next to Minho. Newt tried to make it casual when he was disappointed that there was no seat next to Thomas, so instead he takes the seat next to Winston, finding himself directly opposite Thomas.

"Frypan's whipping up some food and the girls are still in their room," Minho replied.

Thomas nodded, pulling out a box of straight cigarettes from his jean pocket and a blue cheap lighter. "Anybody want one?" He asked as he placed his own between his lips.

"Sure," Minho said, as did Winston and Gally. The box was passed around and when Winston looked to Newt expectantly, he took a cigarette from the small box.

He hadn't smoked in a long time, and the last time he did he was with George. _No, stop thinking about the past_ , he told himself. _This is the present, this is_ _now_ _and these are your friends_.

Newt watched, in slight amazement, as Thomas lit his cigarette and breathed out a air of white smoke. Something so small and disgusting in society, Thomas made look all kinds of beautiful. That's what he was; beautiful. In every way.

They spent ages on the deck. Just smoking, laughing and relaxing. It felt good- more than good. It felt right, like Newt was meant to be here, like he _deserved_ this.

Very often Newt found himself staring at Thomas, focus captured in his bright eyes, the way he laughed with his entire body, genuine and carefree. Every time Newt caught himself staring he quickly snapped his eyes away, looking out into the distance beyond the decking.

The expanse of the view was just as breathtaking as Thomas. It was a sea of mountain peaks, covered in glistening white. There were snow-covered trees, forming a thick forest that spread across the entire view. It was a one in a lifetime sight, but Newt would rather stare at Thomas.

The girls joined them not too much later, filling up the chair circle almost completely. Frypan brought out the food soon after that, handing everyone a plate of chicken selection. Newt dug in, having not eaten all day apart from a packet of Reeses Pieces he'd bought on the train that got passed around so much he barely managed to eat a handful of them.

"There's a small shop about a mile down the road," Frypan explained when they asked where he got the food from. "Got some breakfast too, everybody alright with sausage and bacon sandwiches?"

They all murmured in agreement.

They stayed out there for hours, burning through the packets of cigarettes. Newt didn't have anymore, and he was slightly thankful Brenda wasn't smoking either so he wasn't the only one. Newt wanted to be more worried about all their health, and the fact that they don't seem to be blushing an eyelid at smoking cigarette after cigarette, but Brenda didn't seem bothered either so he assumed it was normal.

And Newt was going to complain at the sight of Thomas dragging on his own cigarette, the action so soft and delicate but sexy and badass at the sametime.

Someone must have got beer as well at some point because as the night sky began to roll in, a bottle of beer was suddenly in his hand and Newt was beginning to feel a pleasant buzz through his veins.

Newt has no idea what time it was when everyone decided to call it a night, taking in the beer bottles to the trash and descending to their own rooms for sleep.

Newt swallowed down his anxiety when he entered his and Thomas' bedroom, finding it empty but sound filtering in through from behind the closed bathroom door. Newt felt awkward and suddenly out of place, unsure what to do with himself.

The bathroom door opened and when Thomas stepped out, hair ruffled and dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a old, worn out tee that hung of his slender frame.

"Uh. . ." Newt gaped, snapping his mouth shut quickly because he was sure he was about to start drooling!

Thomas only smiled gently. "Bathrooms all yours, I'll set up the bed."

Newt nodded, fumbling through his bag for his pyjamas and washbag before he practically stumbled into the bathroom. Thomas was laughing softly when Newt scrambled to the get the door closed and locked. God, he was a _mess_.

Changing into his pyjamas and washing his face, Newt finally realised that he was going to be sharing a bed with Thomas. He was going to be _sleeping_ barely a few inches from him.

What if he had a nightmare? Newt wondered. They still happened some times - more often than not - and the only reason he hasn't been caught yet is because Minho is an incredibly heavy sleeper.

Newt breathed heavy in panic. He braced himself on the sink counter, knuckles bleeding white with the intense grasp he had to ground himself.  Jesus, he was being pathetic. He mentally scolded himself for being so easy to fall and desperate. Thomas must find him absolutely lame.

Newt shut off his self-discriminating thoughts and brushed his teeth. He changed into his pyjamas, wondering with every passing moment if Thomas was going to be wearing pyjamas. What if he got too hot in the night and wanted to take his trousers off? Would Thomas be freaked?

When he exited the bathroom, the bed was unfolded and arranged, Thomas sitting on the far side with his legs crossed and his phone in his hand. He was wearing a baggy, worn grey-shirt and a pair of red and green tartan pyjama bottoms, cuffed at the bottom and clinging to his skinny ankles. He looked up when Newt took a step into the room, and instantly his face softened.

"Hey," he smiled. "You don't have any weird bedtime rituals or anything, do you?"

Newt frowned. "Bedtime what?"

"Y'know, some people have to watch a film to fall asleep, or do exercise or-"

"No," Newt assured. "No, I don't do anything like that. I just-. . . I sleep."

Thomas grinned. "Good, 'cause I'm absolutely beat."

Newt felt his shoulders slouch, loosing their tension. He smiled back and made his way to the vacant side of the bed. Newt placed his phone on the bedside cabinet, plugging it into his charger. He turned off the bedside lamp, eliminating the yellow glow around the room as it plunged into a moonlit darkness. Newt could barely see Thomas, but he could see the outline of his head slicking out of the duvet cocoon he'd wrapped himself in.

Newt huffed a laugh. "You look like a burrito."

Thomas' laugh fluttered in the darkness. "Shut up, I'm cold. Stupid mountain weather."

Newt shook his head, chuckling fondly and snuggled down into the covers.

The bed wasn't too uncomfortable. Newt had slept in better, but he's also slept in worse. The room itself was actually quiet cold, so Newt did the same as Thomas and burrowed down into the blankets and comforters, only his head poking out.

"Night, Newt," Thomas whispered, voice soft and docile with sleep.

Newt smiled to himself, chest warming. "Night, Tommy."

He fell asleep easily that night, soothed by the sound of Thomas' breathing and the comfort of a body next to his.

*****

Newt was awake for 15 minutes before he realised how much of a creeper he was. He woke up at the crack of dawn, a soft sunrise yellow glowing through the windows and lighting the room. Newt was laying on his side, head resting on his arm as he looked at the sleeping form next to him, and he just _couldn't stop staring_.

Thomas' sleeping form was one Newt never imagined to be possible. His face was slack and relaxed, painless and carefree. The soft expanse of his pale skin held no frown or exhaustion lines, but instead it was smooth and creamy. His lips were open a crack, a gentle wisp of breath filtering through, breathing deep and slow. His eyes were moving behind the eyelids, long, dark eyelashes fluttering and brushing over his high, velvety cheekbones. His skin, though pale and colourless, was spotted with gorgeous blemishes that Newt could barely resist touching, connecting them like dot-to-dots.

It stunned Newt how young and youthful Thomas looked when he was sleeping. His form, small but splayed out, reminded Newt of a child. He was innocent looking, tattooed arms covered by the oversized quilt they were sharing.

After 15 minutes of staring at the boys sleeping face, Newt felt like a slight creeper, so he rolled slowly out of bed. Thomas barely shifted, unaware of Newt moving as he grabbed a towel from his bag and went into the bathroom.

It was only seven o'clock, but Newt had still had a brilliant night sleep. He fell off almost instantly, sleeping like a log throughout the entire night until he woke up with his own face inches from Thomas'.

Newt climbed into the shower, feeling the hot water cascade down his back and neck. He felt his muscles ease, tension pouring out of him like a puddle. He was still slightly drugged from the heavy sleep he'd slipped out of, so he stood under the spray for a few minutes to fully wake himself up before he washed his hair and body.

He turned off the water when he was done and stepped out of the shower, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his waist. He went to reach for his clothes when he realised he never picked any up.

His stomach dropped to his feet. Shit.

Panic caught his breath and he sucked in a shallow, strained gasp. His white knuckle grip on the towel around his waist trembled, feeling sick to his stomach.

_Okay, Thomas is probably still sleeping. Just open the door, grab a your bag and get back in here. Easy._

Newt took a deep breath, opened the bathroom door and. . . bumped straight into Thomas.

"Shi— sorry, man. Didn't realise. . ." Thomas trailed off when he caught sight of Newt's arms. "Newt—"

Newt slammed the bathroom door shut so hard the wall shook. He stumbled backwards, hip hitting the sink.

"Newt?" Thomas called through the door. "Newt, open the door!"

_This is happening. This is happening. This can't be happening!_

Newt felt like he was suffocating, the walls were closing in on him.

The door opened and Newt realised he'd forgot to lock it. Fuck!

Thomas didn't enter, though. He stood in the doorway, face plain and soft. Newt felt his chest cave in, tears burning his eyes because Thomas can't see this. He can't see the scars, he can't see Newt breaking down. He feels exposed, vulnerable and weak. Thomas was seeing him inside and out, he was seeing the real Newt. The pathetic, spineless—

"Newt. . ." Thomas' voice reached his ears. Newt felt his knees go weak and he dropped to the bathroom floor, curling in on himself in nothing but a towel.

Thomas entered the room slowly, movements cautious but also slow enough that if Newt suddenly flinched or told him to stop, he could. Newt curled in on himself even more, squeezing his eyes shut.

When he opened them again, Thomas was crouched in front of him, whiskey eyes gentle and friendly. His face was assuring, expression nothing resolving judgmental, disgust or humour like Newt was expecting.

"Newt, whatever you're feeling, whatever you're thinking, it's not true," Thomas said, and Newt had to stop himself from sobbing. "You don't have to tell me why, or when, but don't hide. Not from me, at least. You have nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about."

"What do you know?" Newt snarled. He was exposed and breaking at the seams, he was lashing out and was scared.

Thomas sighed, the sound the opposite of exasperated or aggressive. Instead of speaking, like Newt was expecting, Thomas grabbed Newt by the hand, the action strong but not forcing. Newt let his hand be guided, and felt a pang of surprise when Thomas placed his finger down on the inside of his exposed tattooed arm.

Newt didn't know what he was expecting, but he certainly wasn't expecting to feel the familiar surface of healed scars under the pads of his fingers.

He gasped, involuntary and unstoppable.

Thomas gave him a sad smile, letting go of his hand but not moving his own arm away when Newt kept his fingers there.

"My dad used to abuse and my mum before he left," Thomas explained. "I used to cut because I wanted control over my pain, or at least, some of it. My father was very dominant, very controlling and for once, I wanted to be in control of something."

Newt felt something in his chest snap. "Thomas. . ."

Thomas moved, shuffling back slightly and kneeling down so he was completely on Newt's level. He grabbed the bottom on his t-shirt, pulling it over his head before Newt could stop him and turned around.

His entire back was covered in welts, long healed and scarred white.

"He did this the day before he left," Thomas murmured quietly, and Newt couldn't stop himself from reaching out and touching them. They were rough and 3D under his fingers. Thomas flinched under the touch, and Newt reeled back like he'd been burned.

"It's okay," Thomas said quickly. "It's just. . . been a while since I've shown anyone."

Newt didn't reach out again, but he did eye a small scar at the back of his shoulder bone.

"What about the one on your shoulder?" Newt asked, before he could stop himself. He panicked, thinking he crossed the line and ruined everything, but then Thomas replied.

"Bullet wound," he said. He turned slightly, looking at Newt over his shoulder. "Has Teresa ever told you about when I moved in with her and her mum?"

Newt shook his head.

Thomas shifted, sitting so he was half facing Newt. He looked at his lap. "When I moved in with them, I was angry, to say the least. My dad had already left and I didn't understand why my mum had too. At first, I thought it was my fault, like most people do when they feel abandoned. I ran away a lot, not going anywhere but just wandering the streets until a cop car pulled up and took me home. And then I was angry. All the time, furious and angry at everyone. I got into fights at school, hit my teachers, shouted and screamed at Teresa and her mum when they tried t comfort me. I was a mess, to say the least.

"I joined this south-side gang, sold drugs, hurt people. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made, and I ignored everyone who tried to help me. This," Thomas pointed to a scar just below his collar bone, parallel to the one on his back. "Was from a drug deal gone wrong. Pistol bullet wound, went straight through and shattered the bone. I would have bled out on the floor if Teresa hadn't followed me there and phoned an ambulance. When I woke up three days later I vowed to never do it again. I must have spent weeks apologising and apologising like a broken record but I just felt so guilty."

Thomas paused, taking a shuddering breath.

"I got the tattoos to cover the ones on my arms. I was ashamed, just like you are. I felt stupid, I felt used and pathetic. I didn't want to see them anymore. The ones on my back aren't so bad, because I can't see them, but the ones on my arms were a daily reminder. They mocked me, tormented me. I couldn't wear short sleeves, I couldn't get changed in the changing room with everyone else. So, as soon as I was old enough, I did some drawings and went to the tattoo parlour. The guy didn't ask, but I told him anyway. We spent enough time together that I almost felt like he deserved to know. Three months later, he offered me a job there, small money, just cleaning up and stuff. When I came here, I made sure I got a tattoo apprentice along side my courses. The tattoos make me feel whole again, they make me feel confident and strong. I know it's a cover up, it's practically lying to myself 'cause they're still there, but when I can't see them, I can just pretend they're not."

Thomas met Newt's eyes, face open and vulnerable and truthful. Newt rapidly blinked away the hot tears in his eyes.

Newt reached over, grabbing Thomas' hand in his own. "You're still beautiful, Tommy, even with your scars."

Newt was so overwhelmed with the description of Thomas' past that he didn't register what he said fast enough until Thomas' neck blossomed with a dusting of red blush.

Oops—

"Come on," Thomas said, squeezing Newt's hand before standing up. "We're meant to be on holiday, not attending a therapy session."

Newt huffed a laugh and curled a hand around his towel.

Thomas's cheeks flushed. "Oh—right! Sorry, I'll just—" he jabbed a thumb towards the door, stuttering and fumbling. "I'll, uh. . . leave you to. . . yeah, okay."

Newt couldn't stop himself from smiling like a idiot, even after Thomas shut the door behind him.

*****

When he's dressed, Newt leaves Thomas in the bedroom, and went into the kitchen.

The smell of bacon, sausages and egg reached Newt's nose before he even registered who was in the room: Teresa was already sitting at the island, a stack of brochures beside her and Frypan was standing over the cooker hobs.

"Morning," Frypan said when he noticed Newt lingering.

Newt smiled. "Morning, anything I can help with?"

Frypan nodded. "Can you put the bread in the toaster and butter them when they're done?"

"Sure," _Toast. I can make toast._

A few minutes later, Minho entered wearing a pair of running shorts and trainers.

"Mmm," he hummed, slinking towards the cooker where the bacon and sausages were sizzling. "Something smells good."

Minho reached for a ribbon of bacon but Frypan swatted his hand with the spatular. Newt had to hold back the snort when Minho pouted and clutched his hand to his chest. Drama queen.

Newt was just buttering the last slice of toasted bread when Thomas entered, dressed, like Minho, in a pair of running shorts and trainers. Newt felt his mouth salvate at the sight.

"Ready to go?" Thomas asked, and Minho nodded where he was standing next to Teresa, peering over her shoulder.

"Save us a sandwich each," Minho said on their way out.

After the quick breakfast - Minho and Thomas coming back just in time to scoff down a sandwich each and change - they all clambered into two taxis and headed towards the resort. Turns out Gally is even more of a evil spawn in the mornings, but he quickly cheered up to his normal snarky self when they got their gear on.

"This your first time skiing?" Teresa asked, sitting next to him on the bench where he was struggling to clip his skis into the boots.

"Yeah," Newt huffed, becoming quickly frustrated.

"Don't worry. The only people who have skied before are Minho and Thomas, so you're not the only one," Teresa assured, flashing a smile.

"You've got nothing to be nervous about," Thomas said, crouching down in front of him and wordlessly grabbing his ski, clipping it to his boot for him. "Everybody sucks on their first time."

Newt snorted. "I have the gracefulness of a new born deer."

Despite his head being ducked, Newt saw Thomas' lopsided smirk. "I can help you, if you want."

"Great idea!" Teresa said, stopping newt was declining the offer. He shot her a wary look, but she passively ignored it as she grinned at Thomas. "You and Minho could be our mentors."

Newt swallowed thickly when Thomas clasped the last boot and boar together. It's fine, this will be fine. He can't be _that_ bad.

*

Turns out Newt was wrong. He _can_ be that bad. He was only on the snow for three seconds after he got off the ski lift before he fell backwards and landed on his ass. Truthfully, he could have been worse. He got the hang of standing quickly, and Thomas showed him quickly the proper formation and position to stay in while skiing - knees bent, lean forward and arms out - before he was dragged away to help Teresa, who was far worse than Newt.

They went down a shallow slope first that Minho unhelpfully hinted was the _children_ slope for new learners. Newt ignored him and just focused on staying up right.

Newt wasn't the worst of the group, Teresa and Frypan were _far_ worse than him, but that didn't mean falling in front of Thomas was any less humiliating. Skiing around him was dangerous  because one minute he'd be looking at Thomas, eyes locked and mesmerised by the dazzling smile on the others face, and then he'd be facedown in snow. It was infuriating, but also worth it when Thomas would take him by the hands and help him up.

"This sucks," Newt said after a particularly embarrassing face plant. He brushed the snow out of his hat, grumbling incoherently.

Thomas only smiled. "Relax, Newt. You're a learner, you're not going to be a pro after five minutes. Just enjoy it, enjoy yourself."

"I am enjoying myself," Newt said. "I just don't bloody like face planting."

Thomas laughed loudly. "Come on, the more practise, the better you'll be."

Newt watched Thomas glide away, lean an lithe frame swaying and weaving with expertise. He was good. Incredible, actually. He skied like a professional, as if he'd been doing it for years. Maybe he had, Newt realised. Partnered with running, Newt wondered what other sports and fitness Thomas participated in. Newt could only imagine the strong and toned muscles in Thomas' legs and core, so balanced and graceful in everything he did. Newt was so blinded by staring at Thomas' ass that he managed to fall from just _standing_ , eating snow again and grumbling as he clambered himself up.

Newt soon came to terms with his lack of skiing skill and embraced it, for every time he fell, Thomas was at his side in seconds, helping him up and presenting his signature broad grin. He looked so happy, so carefree that Newt didn't give a damn about his decaying dignity, he just wanted to keep seeing Thomas like this.

As noon approached, Minho called Thomas off to go down a few of the expert trails. Thomas went with an apologetic smile, and Newt shouldn't have been so disappointed. Newt and the others moved up from the children's slope and went down a more steeper one. It was hard, and Newt had to keep stopping himself because he could feel himself beginning to fall. He actually felt quite smug when he made it to the bottom without falling, while everyone else was a mess of limbs and spraying snow.

On the third time down the steeper slope, Newt was halfway down when he heard a call from behind him. He stopped, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Thomas fly past him, skiing so fast he was barely recognisable. Minho was right behind him, snow spraying from their skis as they went impossibly fast, weaving around everyone without a single hitch or falter.

Newt may have been too busy watching Thomas that he began skiing without his consent, crashing directly into Frypan a few metres below him, falling down with an undignified yelp.

Noon arrived with heavy hopes and Newt was grateful to finally get the bloody skis off. Despite enjoying himself and spending all that close time with Thomas, he was still sore and cold and looking forward to bed.

They headed to the courtyard and restaurants after they'd shed their gear, agreeing on some greasy pizza to bring back the feeling in their legs. After, Thomas and Minho decide to go skiing again while everyone else decline the offer quickly and head back to the cabin.

Newt phones Sonya when he gets in, dropping down on his and Thomas' bed and dials his sisters number.

"Hey, Sonya," he greets when she picks up. "Sorry I missed your call."

"It's fine, bro," Sonya replies. "Just checking in to see how you're doing."

"I'm fine," Newt says. "Skiing is . . . hard."

Sonya snorts over the phone. "Yeah, I can imagine how brilliant you must be. How many times did you fall on your ass? Or did you loose count?"

"Shut up," Newt sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Every muscle in his body ached with fatigue. "I wasn't _that_ bad."

Sonya hummed, sounding amused and Newt could literally imagine the grin on her face.

"And it was only my first day!" Newt added.

"Okay, Newtie, calm down. I'm sure your pride isn't too bruised,"

Newt scoffed.

"So, your graceless skiing skills aside, how's the resort? How's the snow?"

Newt then went on to explaining how Sonya had seen and witnessed snow dozens of times before and just because he's sleeping surrounded by mountains doesn't make the snow any different. He tried to turn the conversation to how Sonya and his mother was, she always managed to find another topic to ask about.

After Sonya had finished and he'd had a small, sweet talk to his mother, Newt managed to hang up at exactly 6:30 in the evening. Moving sounded awful, and every muscle in his body protested, but he was also really hungry and food was a good idea after so much physical extortion. So he heaved himself to his feet and exited the bedroom. 

Frypan cooked burgers for dinner and the group sat out on the patio to eat. The air, as the sun went down, turned bitter and biting, so everyone apart from Minho and Thomas - who were smoking a few cigarettes between them - moved inside.

It wasn't long before exhaustion got the better of Newt and he called it a night. He went into his bathroom, showering quickly to try and sooth his sore, tight muscles. It worked, only a little bit, and he quickly climbed into bed.

*****

Hours later, Newt is jerked awake, a scream caught in his throat and George's sadistic grin scorched into his vision.

He can feel the hot tears rolling down his cheeks and the trembles in his limbs as he wretches away from the person shaking his shoulder. He sobs, hard and raw, skin crawling and lungs refusing to work.

". . .ewt? Newt, listen to me. You're okay, you're awake. Newt!"

A panicked voice filters past the rushing in his ears, and Newt finally sucks in a strangled breath. The room is still dark, but Newt can see the faint outline of someone sitting beside the couch.

"Light," he croaked. "Turn on the light."

Moments later, the room is flooded with a soft yellow glow as Newt's bedside lamp is turned on, revealing a worried and concerned looking Thomas crouched down beside the sofa. 

"Are you okay?" Thomas asked.

Newt nodded, but didn't bare to speak. He was still shaking, mind alive like a wire and George's voice ringing in his ears.

Newt saw Thomas stand up, going into the bathroom for a few moments before he returned to Newt's side and a glass of water was shoved under his nose.

Newt took it without word, guzzling it greedily. He always had a sore throat after his nightmares, as if the screams he was meant to let out had physically scraped inside his throat.He finished the glass, putting it down on the cabinet. "Thanks," he rasped, feeling embarrassed and small.

Thomas flashed him a small smile. "It's not problem. You want to talk about it?"

Newt shook his head. He noticed then that while Thomas was wearing his clothes from earlier, his eyes and hair still looked like he'd only just woken up.

"Did I wake you?" Newt asked, feeling even worse.

"No," Thomas said. "Me and Minho fell asleep outside. I just woke up, and a good thing too because I really didn't fancy catching hypothermia."

Newt chuckled. "What's the time?"

"A little after one," Thomas said, standing up. He went around to his side of the bed, unbuttoning his jeans and stripping them. Newt felt his eyes widen, but he didn't look away. Thomas slipped on his pyjama bottoms and slid under the covers, snuggling down into the pillow in a way that Newt could only describe as adorable.

"You okay to go back to sleep?" Thomas asked, evidently fighting off a yawn. "Or d'you want to stay up?"

Newt looked at Thomas, at his sleep kept hair, his tired eyes and heavy lids. "Nah. Let's go to sleep," he said, and quickly flicked off the light.

He fell asleep in no time, and didn't wake up again for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind I am from England and have never taken a train from New York to Vermont - so I have no idea how long it takes, or if it's even a possible route and use of transport. Just pretend, this is fiction, we're allowed to make shit up.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi readers,

I have decided I am going to discontinue this fic. I have various reasons, but the main one is my loss of inspiration to finish writing. I also don't have the time.

I have decided that because I am orphaning it, I will post the rest of the plot I have come up with - which will be posted in the next chapter.

I am sorry to anyone who was reading this, but I really have lost all attachments to this story and writing something you aren't involved in is incredibly hard.

If anyone wants to rewrite this or continue it, you can do so. I don't like this story, I don't like my writing and by orphaning it, I am taking no credit. If anyone wants to continue it, take all the credit you want.

I am truly sorry to anyone who has read this far.

Lots of love to you all.

♡


	8. Chapter 8

**Plot for chapter 7:**  
\- Newt is back in the cafe trying to earn back the money for his mum.   
\- Christmas is crawling closer and he's trying to figure out things to buy for people.   
\- he goes to class and meets Teresa there who asks what Newt is doing after class today. He says Christmas shopping and Teresa says "great, I can show you were to shop!"  
\- they go into town and Teresa buys Thomas a gift >   
\- Newt asks why Teresa is buying him such a big present and Teresa says because Thomas does so much for them already, he doesn't take anything they offer him, works multiple jobs because he doesn't like taking. So she's going to give him something.   
\- Teresa asks what's going on between him and Thomas.   
\- Newt fumbles and says nothing but Teresa looks at him unconvincingly.   
\- Teresa says she can tell Newt has feelings for him, and she knows Thomas so she knows he likes him back.   
\- Newt then says he can't play Thomas around, he's been through enough and he doesn't need anymore hurt. He's a good guy, he deserves someone just as good.   
\- Newt goes home and wonders if he's good enough for Thomas.   
\- Thomas and Newt are at the pub again, setting up. Thomas says he isn't working tonight, he's just setting up as a favour to Brenda.   
\- He asks Newt if he wants to go to WCKD nightclub with everyone as a kind of Christmas party.   
\- Newt says clubs aren't his thing, and Thomas says that's fine.   
\- Newt goes back to his apartment and Minho's there who asks him what he's wearing to Thomas' birthday club.   
\- Newt says what birthday?  
"He didn't tell you? I knew that shank could wimp out. We're all going to WCKD to celebrate Thomas' 19th birthday."  
"He didn't tell me it was for his birthday,"  
"Well I'm telling you now, you coming?"  
\- When they go, Thomas is surprised newt is there who asks why Thomas didn't tell him it was a birthday thing.   
"You said you didn't like clubs. I didn't want to pressure you into coming just because it's my birthday,"  
\- Newt goes inside and they all go to the bar. They do shots and newt sticks with Thomas but when they're dancing, he gets panicky with all the people so close and all he can hear is Georges voice so he runs out.   
\- Thomas calms him down from a panic attack outside and asks if newt wants to go back in, newt says no.   
\- Minho comes out minutes later, completely wasted. Thomas says he's taking Minho home but he passes out, Thomas' appartment is closer so they go there and Minho falls asleep on the couch.   
\- Thomas offers Newt something to drink and they drink some coffee on Thomas' balcony.   
\- Thomas asks Newt why he had a panic attack, he can tell him anything and he won't judge.   
\- Newt tells him he was in a bad relationship, bad things happened and he's been paranoid ever since.   
\- Thomas says he's not paranoid, just cautious and that isn't a bad thing. He just has to get rid of all the bad people in his life and enjoy those who are good.   
\- The next morning Newt wakes up in Thomas' bed but Thomas isn't there.   
\- Thomas is back out on the balcony, topless and having a cigarette.   
\- Newt watches him from the living room and Minho, who he thought was asleep, calls him a pedo.   
\- Newt fumbles but Thomas walks in, he laughs at Minho who's complaining about his head hurting.   
\- Newt finds out Thomas is ill, at the dorm in bed, sick with flu.   
\- newt goes over, skipping his last class because he wants to help tommy.   
\- Thomas answers, looking haggard and deathly, he collapses at the door and newt catches him, taking him back to his bed.   
\- newt fumbles around him, making sure he's hydrated because he's sure Thomas probably hasn't been fully looking after himself if he can barely stand.   
\- newt nurses Thomas back to health and ends up sleeping at thomas' dorm, his roommate having already left for Christmas break.   
\- Thomas gets better slowly, and Newt is sad to have to go back to his own dorm.   
\- When he gets in, Minho sends him a smug look and newt tells him to shuck off.   
\- December disappears over one night.  
\- Newt is finishing his paper for his finals, stressing and spending hours on end up.   
\- Minho comes back from a run with Thomas and says he looks like shit.   
\- Newt tells him to shuck off, he's working.  
\- Minho invites him out because they're all going for pizza as a celebration that they're all finished but newt says he can't, his paper isn't done.   
\- He spends the entire night doing it and then Thomas turns up, saying he wasn't in the mood for pizza and Minho said he needed help.   
\- Newt is shocked but accepts the help. Thomas doesn't do much but his company is motivation enough to get it finished.   
\- Newt wakes up at his desk, Thomas beside him and he realises they must have fallen asleep there.   
\- He looks at Thomas, thinking of how someone could be so utterly content when Newt knows he snores and drools.   
\- He finishes his paper but Thomas is still asleep.   
\- He shakes Thomas awake and says he needs to drop his paper off, Thomas goes with him.   
\- After they drop it off, Newt says he needs to pack because he's leaving to the train station later.   
\- Thomas says he'll give him a lift, save him spending out for a cab.   
\- Newt goes back to pack   
\- Thomas picks him up and drives him there, asking who will be down for Christmas and stuff  
\- At the train station, the train is already there and Newt thanks Thomas - for everything. Thomas says it was no problem, he was happy to do it.   
\- They kiss, and Newt freaks and jumps on the train, leaving Thomas there, shocked.

 **Plot for chapter 8:**  
\- Newt arrives home and he's greeted by his mother, sister, aunt and grandmother.   
\- His phone has missed calls and texts from Thomas but he ignores them all.   
\- While he's home, he talks to Sonya who says newt shouldn't keep pushing people away. Bad things don't happen to people twice.   
"That's because people learn from their mistakes,"  
"You're not learning, you're running,"  
\- When Newt gets back, he tries to call Thomas but he isn't answering. He asks Minho where he is and Minho says Thomas and Teresa were in a car crash just before Christmas.   
\- Newt runs to the hospital and kisses Thomas, apologising for being a total fuck-head who can't let go of the past. He finally tells Thomas he loves him.

**THE END.**


End file.
